


The Same Star

by Annaelle, dolarhyding, Juulna



Series: Millions of Universes Born in Your Touch [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Awesome Bucky Barnes, Awesome Everyone, Awesome Howling Commandos, Awesome Steve Rogers, Awesome Tony Stark, Because you can pry Pluto from my cold dead hands, Canon-Typical Violence, Discovery of New Planets, Dubious Use of Science, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Gaia the Tenth Planet, International Dynamics, M/M, Multi, Omega Steve Rogers, Pack Family, Post-World War III, Space Opera, Temporary presumed character death, The Author is Not a Scientist, The Boys Are SO in Love, inspired by The Martian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 17:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolarhyding/pseuds/dolarhyding, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juulna/pseuds/Juulna
Summary: The year is 2117—nearly 100 years after the Third World War and 50 years after the discovery of the Alpha-Omega gene mutation—and the United Research Space Agency has landed its first manned mission on the recently discovered tenth planet, named Gaia.On this planet, there are now seven souls—that they know of—led by URSA’s finest, most driven Captain; an Omega named Steve Rogers and his loyal Alpha, Bucky Barnes. The mission—a dream mission, a mission the entire population of Earth follows with bated breath—will soon become a nightmare for all involved.The mission is hastily aborted when a freak storm of unimaginable proportions hits suddenly, forcing the team to leave the surface of the planet—all but one. Bucky Barnes is left behind, assumed dead by all, even his grief-stricken Omega.The vast distance between them increases every minute, and it might be more than he—and his mate—are capable of handling. With such distance, it is only a matter of time before Separation Sickness takes them and makes them lose control—the one thing Steve, leader of the Gaia Exploration Crew, cannot afford to lose.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli/Daniel Sousa, Pepper Potts/James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Winifred Barnes/Sarah Rogers
Series: Millions of Universes Born in Your Touch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698184
Comments: 38
Kudos: 59
Collections: Tony-involved Omegaverse Fics





	1. Preface Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Writing this piece has been a wild ride, and I wouldn't have been able to do it without my amazing co-writer Juulna, who, as always, pushed me to try something a little out of my comfort zone, to improve as an author :) 
> 
> Much thanks to SpookyMushrooms (dolarhyding) for the wonderful art they created for this story! It has yet to be added, but be on the lookout for that, as it will appear inline with the fic! For now, take a gander at [their amazing art on Twitter](https://twitter.com/spookybuckies)! (Seriously, it's _gorgeous_.
> 
> Enjoy, and please let us know what you think!
> 
> Love,  
Annaelle & Juulna

#  **The Same Star**

##  **_“I Feel Like a Part of My Soul has Loved You Since the Beginning of Everything. _****_  
_** **_Maybe We Were Forged From the Heart of the Same Star.”_****_  
_******_—Emery Allen_

###  _ Preface Part One _

In the years following the Third, nearly apocalyptic, World War in the early 2020s, followed by the Energy Revolution and the Nairobi Peace Accords, Earth and its inhabitants learned to accept and love its own diversity. Constrictive laws that separated them from one another, that sought to benefit one group and marginalize another, were done away with and replaced with globally-adopted and ratified laws that sought to respect all life, including that of those who were classed as “divergent” and “different” before. 

The Energy Revolution and the massive, collective, international effort to save the environment that followed provided an airtight solution to the world’s fear of running out of fossil fuels. Several large companies banded together to facilitate the rapid global spread of clean, renewable energy solutions in the form of wind, hydro, solar, perpetual, and arc technology. 

Of course, the damage done to the climate would take its time to heal, and was still an issue even decades later, but much of the damage would be reversed within another few years. 

The transition to this new form of society took much time and a lot of effort, but once the governments of the world—much fewer than there had been before the Third War, with political and economic power centres that had shifted from the West to the East, to China and Japan in Asia, and Wakanda in Africa—had stabilised and formulated a renewed and more inclusive version of the European Union, humanity’s restless eye once again turned to the stars.

The United Research Space Agency—colloquially known as URSA—began recruiting astronauts and scientists from across the globe in the 2050s, uniting them all under a star-studded banner. All of the remaining nations of the world were glad to participate in the project, and donated time, money, and members. 

Remarkably, there was very little infighting. 

That was not to say there had been  _ no _ infighting—just very little. 

URSA was able to incorporate the newest technologies to push humanity’s ability to explore the great unknown of space further and faster, and for a time it seemed the people of Earth would be able to live in relative peace—

Until their love for the stars and the unknown introduced an entirely new and wholly unpredictable threat to Earth and its inhabitants. 

It was not, as many had predicted, little green men or rogue asteroids or aggressive creatures. 

It was, in fact, both simpler and far more complicated. 

Genetic mutation wasn’t an unknown entity in itself, but this mutation carried characteristics that both baffled and delighted the people of Earth when they finally learned of it. It remained unknown for a long time, hidden deep within the DNA of three thousand astronauts, scientists, and pilots when they returned from a ten year mission into space, where they had looked into establishing colonies on the moon and the possibility of travelling to Mars.

The mutations remained hidden, in fact, until those astronauts, scientists, and pilots had been back for a few years and had already birthed the next generation. It would likely have remained hidden much longer if not for the sudden testimony of a woman named Maria Rambeau, who claimed to have gotten pregnant after sleeping with her longtime girlfriend and partner, Carol Danvers—one of the pilots who had been chosen for the lunar mission. 

While many dismissed her claims initially, refused to believe her and outright called her a liar, the world was forced to acknowledge  _ something _ was happening when the child—a daughter named Monica, with Maria’s beautiful dark skin and a headful of curls and Carol’s bright, caramel eye colour—was born and underwent DNA-testing that  _ confirmed _ what Maria had insisted. 

Monica Rambeau-Danvers was the biological child of Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau—two  _ women _ . 

By the time the scientific world had wrapped their heads around the new development and had traced it back to Carol’s participation in the long-term space mission, the genetic mutation had been passed on to an entire generation of people, and others had acquired it through direct and indirect exposure over the course of several years. 

For the first time since before the Third War, Earth stood powerless to counteract what was happening. Of course, while many carried the mutated gene, it remained recessive in most and only manifested fully in a very small percentage of the world’s civilisation. It was impossible to predict where and when and in whom it would occur. 

Some communities welcomed the possibilities that the Alpha-Omega mutation—named for a genre of mostly-online literature that had barely survived the war but predicted some of its symptoms with frightening accuracy—brought wholly. The study of fertility in male Omegas—men who were capable of bearing children to term—opened a new avenue of possibility for LGBTQIA+ communities, and offered new kinds of fertility studies for those who struggled to conceive naturally. 

Of course, even in this new, welcoming world, there were always those who would stand against those who were different, who insisted that the mutation was unnatural and should not be allowed to persevere. 

Unfortunately, while few in number, those people had loud voices. 

While there was no legal way to force Alphas and Omegas to stay together, to force them to be couples even when there was hardly any mention of affection of any kind, in some communities the idea arose that they should only ‘breed with their own kind’. And those same communities adopted a class-caste system that was anathema to the wide new world, but was of course  _ encouraged _ by those who benefited from it, and given a blind pass by most others who wanted to let the ‘mutants deal with their own problems’.

It was in such a community that Winnifred Elisabeth Barnes, eldest granddaughter to Jacob Barnes, one of the astronaut-engineers who had been on the lunar mission, was born an Omega. 

When she met George Abner Jones in high school, she had been dazzled to find someone who was  _ different _ too. They had been dating for a few months when they shared a heat, and Winnifred found herself pregnant. 

Her son, James Buchanan Jones-Barnes, was born an Alpha on March 10 th , 2089 in Shelbyville, Indiana after his parents had married in a poorly planned, swift wedding a few weeks prior. 

She did love her husband, in a way, and she adored her little boy, and so she stayed, because while the world had moved forward, life seemed to have regressed a century and a half for her slice of the population. Unmarried mothers and fathers were no longer considered an oddity or scandalous—unless one was an Omega. 

She was afraid, and so she stayed, bearing the brunt of his ire and aggression, hiding his descent into alcoholism from their baby boy as much as she could, sharing her husband’s bed as she ought to.

And then she fell pregnant again. 

In 2091, four months after she had announced her second pregnancy, George raised his hand against his two-year-old toddler instead of his pregnant wife. Winnifred had calmly lifted her heaviest cast iron frying pan and smashed it against her husband’s skull. 

She packed her and her son’s belongings—the entirety of it fitting into a single worn, stained suitcase—and left her husband and extended family behind for good. 

While travelling was a whole lot easier these days, and she could certainly have done so faster, Winnie took her time travelling from Shelbyville, Indiana to Brooklyn, New-New York. It was there, in Brooklyn, that her luck—and that of her boy—turned for the better. 

James Buchanan Barnes met Steven Grant Rogers when their mothers moved into adjoining, one-bedroom studios—Sarah, an Alpha, had lost her Omega husband just after her boy’s birth, and could no longer afford to live in their family home, especially not when unbonded. Bucky was two-and-a-half years old to Steve’s eighteen months, and though Bucky had no real memory of it, their mothers always told them that little Bucky had staunchly refused to let go of baby Steve once they had let him hold the baby. 

Nowadays, Bucky liked to think he’d always known Steve was his. 

Steve liked to tell him he was full of shit. 

On December 21 st , 2091, Winnifred Barnes gave birth to twin Alpha  _ and _ Omega girls, named Mary-Grace Louise and Rebecca Anna Barnes. Sarah Rogers held her hand the entire time, and her son and his little friend dozed on a cot in the corner of the room, a well-thumbed, beloved picture book filled with stars and distant galaxies open between the two. 

In the hallway, nurses gossiped over the scandal of leaving an unbonded Alpha and Omega alone in a room together, especially with the Omega having dissolved her previous marriage. They whispered that it wasn’t right, an Alpha woman having to care for another Alpha’s pups, letting her new Omega get attached to them, as though they’d be able to keep them. 

The little family was unbothered by such whispers, and spent the night bonding, scenting and scent-marking each other from the safety of the nest Sarah and Winnie had created out of the various sheets and pillows they’d managed to collect in the small, private hospital room—a favor from a sympathetic colleague of Sarah’s. 

When Winnie asked, in a small voice, Sarah hummed and brought the sleeping boys over, tucking them between Winnie and Sarah’s legs, covering them with a cotton sheet patterned with stars. 

Winnie, from within the safety of the nest Sarah had helped her build, with her babies—her boy and her two girls and her little Stevie—and her friend, her  _ Alpha _ , allowed herself to relax for the first time since she had learned she was pregnant with her James. 

She felt  _ whole _ in a way she had never before. 

And while their lives would certainly not be easy, they were peaceful. 

—————————

When Bucky was five and Steve was three, URSA sent their first manned mission to Venus.

The boys, barely able to comprehend what was going on beyond a basic understanding that the men and women in the rocket were going to explore a new planet, spent nearly the entire night glued to the holoscreen, their snotty little noses and sticky little fingers pressed against the screen as they watched the countdown, counting down along with the news anchors, gasping in excitement when the arc engines ignited and pushed the rocket upwards, into space, where it would meet with the spaceship that had been assembled by various astronauts from the International Space Station. 

“Mama,” Bucky said after she turned off the holoscreen and took both boys to bed. “I wanna go up to the stars too. Can Steve and I go after school on Monday? We’ll be home before dinner, and I’ll hold his hand the entire time so I won’t lose him.” 

Winnie smiled indulgently and tucked her boy in. “We’ll see, baby.” 

It was enough for her boy though, who just nodded and rolled onto his side, shuffling closer to the edge of his bed so he could stick his hand out and touch little Steve’s hand in the bed next to his. He was asleep before his next breath. She took a moment, while she was in the room, to check on the twins, who were conked out in the little blanket nest they’d created in their shared bed, and smiled at all of her children when she left the room. 

Sarah waited for her in their bedroom, smiling lightly when Winnie entered. 

While they had initially only bonded to avoid being separated or forced to marry others, it had not taken long for the deep friendship they’d developed over the years to evolve into something… something  _ more _ . Winnifred hadn’t thought she would fall in love again, but it had been far easier with Sarah than she had thought possible. 

Things weren’t perfect, but they were good. 

“Bucky wants to go to the stars,” she informed her mate as she changed into her pajamas. “He even asked if he and Steve could go on Monday after school as long as they held hands and were back before dinner. They fell asleep holding hands again too.”

Sarah laughed and shook her head. “Of course he does. And  _ of course _ they did. I’m telling you, one day they’re going to come to us, all red-faced, and ask if they’re really brothers or if they’re allowed to bond.” 

Winnie chuckled lightly. 

“We could look into it,” Sarah offered once Winnie had settled into bed with her, turning onto her side so they could look at each other. At Winnie’s inquiring hum, Sarah clarified. “A trip to the stars. I’ve been making a little more with the better hours at the hospital, and you’ve been making good money at the bookstore too.” 

She reached out to tangle her fingers with Winnie’s and smiled sweetly. “We could make a family vacation out of it. We haven’t had one of those before. I know they offer some leisure trips to the Lunar Colonies—Maria told me about them. There might be some offered to Mars too—the colonies are newer, but it’d be more exciting. I could see how expensive it’d be.” 

Winnie nodded slowly. “We can look into it. With how they’ve been lately, it’s probably a passing fascination. Remember last month when they were obsessed with music from before the Second War?” 

Sarah chuckled and agreed.

They were young. They’d probably pick another subject to be fascinated over by the end of the week. 

——————

The boys, against all expectations, did  _ not _ choose another subject to be fascinated over, and even managed to pass their fascination onto the girls. When they were eight, six and four respectively, the family took a trip to Persephone, one of the newest colonies on Mars. 

By the time they were teenagers, the boys had managed to save up their pocket money for a trip to the Lunar Colonies and Stark Industries Launch Pad twice, and both boys had adamantly insisted they were going to become astronauts too, one day. When Bucky was sixteen, he managed to get a job waiting tables in the cafeteria at Stark Industries, and proceeded to annoy the crap out of his moms, sisters, and Steve by bragging about it for a solid two months. 

His and Steve’s fascination with space and their desire to become astronauts had not abated in the slightest, even though they both knew Steve would likely never be allowed into the program. 

While Steve’s health had improved  _ a little _ , he still had a bum heart, asthma, color blindness and deafness in his left ear. He still got sick most winters when they weren’t careful, and though he was stronger and smarter and more stubborn than anyone else Bucky knew, they both knew that URSA’s standards for their astronauts were far too high for Steve to be able to get in. 

They all knew, but they never spoke of it out loud. 

Bucky, on the other hand, intended on using his job at Stark Industries to forge connections he could use later in life to get into URSA. 

URSA had recently entered a joint mission with Stark Industries’ resident crazy genius—better known as Tony Stark, an Omega who had refused to relinquish the ownership of Stark Industries when his father died, who had a ‘normal’ human partner named James Rhodes  _ and _ an Alpha mate named Pepper Potts—and sent several smaller, manned and unmanned missions to Jupiter and its moons, and later into the Kuiper belt. 

It was during the latter missions, in 2107, that Earth finally learnt of concrete evidence of the elusive and nigh-mythical Tenth Planet. Earth’s astronomers and other scientists, professional and amateur alike, had caught glimpses of its passage since 2003, but never the planet itself. They weren’t sure if its orbit was inclined or not, or even what size the planet was. 

No one had  _ seen _ it, but they had seen evidence  _ of _ it.

But there it finally was, the Tenth Planet, and it sent Earth into an excited uproar, focused as they were on space. 

It had been hidden for eons, close behind the asteroid belt, closer to Jupiter than to Mars but  _ there _ , covered and eclipsed by the massive field of rock and ice. The scientists were as excited as the citizens, and the astronauts clamored to be the first to step foot upon the rock, dirt, and ice that composed the planet which URSA—after careful thought and consultation with linguists, historians, and the general public—called Gaia. After a number of enthusiastically and publicly sponsored unmanned robotic and satellite missions to Gaia, URSA announced that they were focusing the majority of their resources, time, and attention on the first manned mission to the planet, which reports indicated resembled a cross between Earth and Mars.

And Steve and Bucky fully planned on being one of the rare few chosen for the mission.

All aspects of the mission preparation were watched like a hawk watches its prey. It became the new ‘celebrity’ obsession, much like the public obsession with The Beatles in the 1960s, a century and a half previous. 

Steve and Bucky, though, took their passion in a different direction. They didn’t want to join the mission because of the fame. No, they wanted to join the mission because of their intense curiosity and love for all things stellar and interstellar.

The mission was slated to commence in ten years.

They had time.

Barely.

  
  



	2. Preface Part Two

### Preface Part Two

**Brooklyn, New-New York, United States of America**  
24th of June, 2112  
8:34 a.m. 

**Bucky**

“Steve, c’mon, we’re going to be late,” Bucky yelled as he jogged downstairs and out the front door, running his fingers through his hair to make sure his Omega hadn’t messed it up _too _badly.

The interviews they were slated to take today were no more than a formality at this point, but Bucky had worked too long and too hard to risk messing it up by being late. Getting the Stark Industries Local Talent Scholarship would open _a lot_ of doors for him and Steve; most notably doors that would eventually lead to URSA’s recruitment centers.

“I’m coming,” Steve yelled back, but by the sound of it, he was still rummaging around in their bedroom, probably looking for the tie he’d been wearing before they’d gotten… _distracted_.

Bucky smirked a little. They’d been together for nigh on ten years now, if one included the years they’d spent telling everyone they were dating even though they were far too young to understand what it meant—Bucky _definitely_ included those years—and Bucky _still_ had a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

He couldn’t be blamed, honestly.

Steve was _too_ handsome for his own good.

It’d only gotten worse after they’d bonded and moved out of their parents’ house. Bucky knew they’d been young—possibly too young by many people’s standards—but he’d never doubted. He’d known, since he was ten years old, that Steve was his Mate; it was a miracle they’d waited until they were eighteen at all.

“I’m here,” Steve panted, ambling down the stairs and slamming the front door shut behind him, skidding to a stop in front of Bucky with a smile so bright Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m here. We can go, you’ll dazzle them, it’ll be great.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the one that has to do all the charming?” Bucky grinned, reaching out to run his fingers through the blond, floppy bangs that continually fell across Steve’s forehead.

“Yes,” Steve snorted, shaking his head. “That’s because _you’re_ the charming one. If we want any chance at getting this, you’ll need to do the whole,” he flapped his hand at Bucky ineffectively, and Bucky couldn’t help but smirk, “_thing_,” Steve finished.

“You realize you’ll need to talk at some point, right?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, leaning in to nudge his nose against Steve’s playfully.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “But I can only be cute in small doses.”

Bucky snorted, but leaned in to kiss him nonetheless, because how could he not? Steve smiled against his lips and pressed closer to Bucky, likely wrinkling their fancy suits more than advisable, but Bucky didn’t care.

It took a few moments, and more than a few languid kisses, before Bucky could convince himself to break away, gently pushing Steve back until he could slip out from between his boyfriend and the car. “Come on, or we’re actually going to be late.”

Steve snorted again and shoved at Bucky’s shoulder. “Whose fault is that? _I _didn’t have a problem keeping my hands to myself.”

Bucky grinned unrepentantly at him and shook his head as they got into the car, waiting for Steve to click his seatbelt on before he started the car and pulled away from the curb. The ride to Stark Tower was mostly spent silent, listening to Bucky’s old recordings of pre-war podcasts on astronomy and holding hands over the center console.

Bucky didn’t try to talk much, knowing Steve well enough to know his Omega enjoyed the uncomplicated semi-silence when he was nervous. 

It wasn’t a long drive by any means, and soon, their car’s simple A.I.—that Becca and Gracie had aptly named Alpine, after the cat they’d had when they’d been little—was guided into a guarded garage beneath the tower by Stark Industries’ decidedly more advanced one. Bucky reached out to clasp Steve’s hand in his and smiled at his mate. “Here we go, Stevie,” he said, voice only trembling a little. “One step closer.”

Steve swallowed thickly and shot a strained smile at Bucky. “One step closer.”

——————

**24th of June, 2112  
10:37 a.m.**

**Steve**

Steve walked out of the meeting room feeling more than a little overwhelmed, clutching at the little chip the friendly elderly doctor had pressed into his palm with a kind smile as though it were a lifeline.

It might as well be.

_“I can give you a chance,” _Dr. Erskine had said. _“Only a chance_.”

A chance was all Steve had been looking for, though, and he would take the opportunity with both hands and thank the man for it too.

He’d walked in with the promise of a scholarship to apply to NYU or Columbia for interplanetary architecture and possibly engineering, with the promise of making himself look as appealing to URSA as possible, so that they might overlook his various health issues, and he’d walked out with…

Steve looked down at the chip in his hand.

He’d walked out with the promise of much, _much_ more.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, motionless in the middle of a hallway in Tony Stark’s giant tower, waiting for… for something to wake him up, to make him feel less like he was walking around in a dream, terrified to wake up.

He’d always known his health would hold him back, that the chances URSA would take him were slim to none, even if he managed to make himself look like the perfect candidate on paper.

If what Dr. Erskine told them was true though… if it was _true_, Steve would not only be healthy, he would _thrive_. He _would_ be the perfect candidate for the URSA space program, and he would be the perfect mate for Bucky—the mate he could never be now.

For all that medicine had come a long way, they still couldn’t do much about his bad heart, and though there were plenty of hearing aids available, and scoliosis correction braces, they’d always only been able to afford the cheaper options. It was _leagues_ ahead of what it would have been if he’d been born a hundred years previous, but it was still not the best.

Dr. Erskine’s research could _cure_ him of … _everything_.

He could do it… if he could convince Bucky.

Steve looked up to the interview room they’d taken Bucky into earlier and swallowed thickly.

He’d rather have spinal surgery again than try to convince his overprotective mate to let him take part in an experimental medical trial without causing the other man to have a heart attack.

The door opened.

“Here goes,” Steve whispered beneath his breath.

——————

**Camp Lehigh, New-New Jersey, United States of America**  
5th of December 2112  
7:53 a.m. 

**Steve **

He looked up at the ancient building before him and swallowed nervously.

Erskine had told him the medical trial was one the governments of the world had decided to keep secret, for now, until they’d determined its viability within the moral principles of their civilization, but he had somehow not expected most of it to take place in a building that predated the _Second_ World War.

He felt, rather than saw, Bucky tense behind him, and swallowed his own nervousness to soothe his Alpha’s frenetic energy. He knew Bucky didn’t like this, didn’t like the million-and-one waivers he’d had to sign before he’d even been allowed anywhere near the project, but Steve had faith in Erskine.

The older man was a _good_ man, and a _brilliant_ doctor, and Steve trusted him.

He and Bucky had had dozens of arguments about his participation in the trial, had fought about it like they hadn’t ever fought about anything in their entire lives, but in the end, Steve was sure—and Bucky had conceded.

Steve knew that Bucky’s reservations mostly stemmed from a place of love, and that his Alpha was just absolutely terrified of losing Steve, and he wasn’t _angry_ that Bucky objected. He’d rather have not had to fight about it at all, but he’d understood.

Of course, knowing they’d have to be separated for at least eight weeks had given Steve pause too, when Erskine had told him about it. It was highly uncommon to separate mated pairs, especially those with strong mating bonds, but Erskine had explained that it was necessary to ensure the success of the project.

Steve _would_, inevitably, end up uncomfortable or even in pain, and having his overprotective Alpha there would hinder their efforts.

Steve didn’t like it, per se, but he did understand Erskine’s logic.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” he told his Alpha gently, taking Bucky’s hand in his and squeezing it firmly. “We’re gonna be fine, and Erskine can _help_ me. I could be _healthy_, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed. “I know. I’m allowed to not like this though, Steve. I’m gonna have to live without you for more than a _month_ for the first time in… _ever_.” The older man pouted, and Steve narrowly resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mate. They’d spent time apart before—not a lot, and certainly never as long as this, but they _did_ have their own lives too.

“It’ll be good to not have to look at your ugly mug all day,” he hummed thoughtfully, squeaking indignantly when Bucky dug his fingers into the ticklish spot just below his ribs in retaliation.

“I gotta go, Bucky,” Steve said mournfully.

He _hated_ leaving Bucky, and he hated that he wouldn’t be allowed to see him for a long time, but he _really_ wanted to do this, and he knew Bucky would have plenty of support--they’d gotten relatively close with Tony Stark, somehow, and Steve knew that Tony and Bucky were compatible. The other Omega would be able to soothe Bucky’s overprotective instincts.

“I’m gonna call you,” Bucky insisted, tightening his arms around Steve a little. “Every day. And you’re gonna send me drawings. Okay? I wanna hear from you all the time.”

Steve nodded. “And you’re gonna tell me all about med school and engineering.”

Bucky nodded, and Steve diligently pretended his Alpha wasn’t about to burst into tears. He tiptoed and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips, exuding as many calming pheromones as his sickly body could manage. “I’m going to be fine,” he whispered against Bucky’s lips. “You gotta let me go in.”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbled unhappily, slowly loosening his grip on Steve’s shirt. “Imma miss ya.”

Steve took a step back, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He glanced towards the building before looking back at Bucky, taking a few, slow, calm steps back. “See you soon, handsome. Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

“How can I?” Bucky said, voice breaking in the middle of his sentence, hands clenching into fists by his sides. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“Jerk,” Steve smiled.

“Punk.”

——————

**NNYU Campus Apartments, New-New York, United States of America**  
19th of August 2114  
5:46 p.m. 

**Bucky**

“Oh, come on,” Bucky whined at Natasha. “You could’ve said yes to any number of guys if you wanted to.” His redheaded best friend rolled her eyes at him and he pouted a little while she snatched the half empty bottle of Russian vodka from his hand.

Their books long laid abandoned on the desk and the floor, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the small lamp by the door--the only lamp that had been on during the day, given that they were both too lazy to get up and turn on the rest of the lights.

It wasn’t like the apartment was huge—they’d gotten a really good deal on the place, and they were actually able to save up some money due to the monthly stipend Bucky received as a full-time medical student, on top of the scholarship Stark Industries had given him—or that the street lights didn’t give ample lighting.

The low lighting made it more cozy.

“Yes,” Natasha nodded. “But they were not what I wanted, so I had to say no.”

Bucky snorted. “Well, then don’t come whining that no one asks you out. It’s not their fault you’re terrifying and keep turning everyone down.”

Natasha just shook her head, and while Bucky adored her—she was his best friend besides Steve—she exasperated him too. They’d met on the first day of freshman orientation nearly three years ago; Bucky had been a little overwhelmed and somewhat eager to get the day over with so he could go home and call Steve, who he hadn’t been allowed to see in a month, at that point, and Natasha had, apparently, seen him and decided she liked him.

She’d approached him and gotten him talking about his ambition to do a double major in astrophysical engineering and medicine and his hope it’d help him in his application with URSA once he’d graduated.

She’d called him a dumb rockethead and told him they were friends, even if he was being needlessly reckless by trying to get his ass strapped to one of Stark’s new rockets.

He hadn’t looked back.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Nat asked, head lolling back against the cushioned headrest of Bucky’s desk chair. “Heard from him today?”

Bucky hummed. He’d spent a few hours video chatting with Steve earlier that day, drinking in every pixelated inch of his mate’s face. He and Steve had never spent quite so long apart before, and it was hard for both of them, but it was worth it.

Steve was, according to Steve himself and Dr. Erskine, healthier than he had ever been.

The drug trial—the serum, as Erskine referred to it—was working.

Bucky might have been on the fence about the whole thing, and he was still a little iffy about it, considering it had kept him and Steve apart for several months at a time over the course of the past two and a half years, but he was mature enough to admit when he’d been wrong.

Steve was taller and stronger than he had ever been, his asthma had all but disappeared, and even his heart was doing better than it ever had.

“He’s good,” Bucky finally replied. “He got to hang out with Tony and Sharon, so I think he had fun at least, this time.” Steve had complained endlessly about dying of boredom during his last treatment, just a little over six months previously, because he hadn’t been allowed to actually see anyone during the entirety of his stay at Erskine’s facility then.

Natasha hummed. “That’s good. He’s whiny when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Hey,” Bucky frowned, lobbing the nearest object, which happened to be a pillow, at Nat’s head. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

Nat just caught the pillow and threw it back with the most shiteating grin on her face.

“What are you gonna do about Clint?” Bucky asked, tucking the pillow under his head, redirecting the conversation back to Nat’s—sorely lacking—love life.

Natasha sighed and pouted. “He’s a disaster. I don’t need disasters in my life.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded, blinking up at the ceiling blearily. “But consider this: he’s cute.”

Natasha snorted. “He doesn’t fit into the five-year-plan, Barnes. I’ll never get to where I want to be if I let a human disaster like Clint distract me.”

“Not everything needs to be perfectly planned, Nat,” Bucky told her. “I mean, I know you’re Russian, and that you like history, but that doesn’t mean you have to stick to all of their ideas too. You’re smart enough to get into politics even with that idiot distracting you.” She nodded lightly and Bucky shrugged, rolling his head again so he could stare at the ceiling.

“Plus, you’ll get laid,” he added, snorting a laugh at Nat’s indignant yelp, only to groan when Nat launched herself from the desk chair onto the bed with him, digging her elbow into his side viciously. “Ow,” he whined, shoving her to the side none-too-gently, “It’s been forever,” he laughed, “I’ve never really known you to hook up with anyone in all the time I’ve known you.” He shrugged, “And it’s not like you’re ace or you don’t want to.”

Natasha settled beside him and huffed wordlessly, punching his arm.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand over his sore arm, “fine, I get it. No sex for you.”

Nat huffed again. “He’s dumb.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “Maybe. But he’s pretty and he adores you. Ain’t that worth a shot?”

Natasha sighed and rolled her head to the side to look at him. “Not everyone gets the fairytale like you did, Barnes. Some of us can’t have everything. I like Clint fine, but I can’t… I can’t take that risk now. I need to stay at the top of all my classes, make sure that I’m first in line for the internship with Potts—maybe after.”

Bucky nodded. “Maybe after.”

They stared up at the ceiling quietly, and Bucky mused on whether it was time to order pizza yet. It had to be nearly six, and he was hungry, and still slightly drunk, and waiting to hear back from URSA on his application for their Early Astronaut Training Internship was driving him insane.

It was why he’d called Nat over in the first place.

He was supposed to hear something four hours ago.

“I’m gonna get it,” he asked quietly. “Right? They’ll pick me.”

“They gotta,” Nat told him, equally quietly, her smile uncharacteristically soft when she turned her head to look at him. “You’re their best candidate by far. They’d stupid not to.”

“I’ve never wanted anything else this much in my life,” he admitted. “What if I don’t get it?”

Nat was quiet for a beat. “You’re gonna. And if not, we’ll figure something out.”

Bucky’s phone rang.

——————


	3. One

### One

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 44.55 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 4, 2117**

**Steve**

Steve hummed in satisfaction when his mate pressed against him, nuzzling the faint Bonding Mark on his neck. He set his cup of shitty coffee down on the counter and leaned back against Bucky, allowing his mate to scent him and scent-mark him as the Alpha had clearly been itching to do since the moment Steve stepped out of the shower smelling like the generic antibacterial soap URSA provided for its astronauts on missions like these.

“You don’t smell like me,” Bucky grumbled unhappily, nudging the cold tip of his nose against Steve’s Bonding Mark pointedly. His hands were folded over Steve’s stomach, holding him close, and Steve relished in the brief moment of intimacy and privacy.

Lord knew that they didn’t get a lot of time to themselves on this mission.

Any minute now, the rest of their highly trained, exceptionally loyal, and absolutely _mad_ team would invade the kitchen area in search of sustenance before they embarked on a long, hard day of exploration and research.

Steve sighed lightly and rested a hand atop Bucky’s.

They’d signed up for this, of course, and they’d known they wouldn’t have much privacy on their gorgeous hunk of metal. They’d gone through _years_ of intensive training, and hundreds—likely thousands—of hours logged on flight simulators.

They’d spent months in preparatory isolation with their handpicked team, running simulations of their mission and honing their skills together and separately. They’d been the very first mixed Alpha-Omega team that’d ever been sent on a mission—let alone one as high profile as this one—and they’d needed to prove that they wouldn’t end up ripping each other’s heads off if one of them accidentally hit a rut or a heat—although Steve was the only Omega on the team right now, and his heats had been so regular since Erskine’s experimental drug trial that he could probably set a clock to them.

“You can’t scent-mark me now,” Steve said reluctantly. “You’d stink up the entire HAB. Dugan and Gabe would be on edge for the rest of the day and we can’t risk that. We’ve got three EVA’s scheduled, I need all of you at your best.”

Bucky growled lightly against the back of Steve’s neck, but he did cease his attempts to rub himself all over Steve. They’d shared a heat not too long ago, because despite advancements in the medical field, they hadn’t found a way to suppress an Omega’s hormone cycle that didn’t end up doing irreparable damage to their reproductive system.

Steve’s heats were regulated and planned, but they happened still.

It always made for a tense few days aboard their fancy tin can.

It wasn’t that Dum Dum and Gabe caught a whiff of Steve’s heat-addled scent and went entirely apeshit, challenging Bucky for a chance to spend Steve’s heat with him, but it _did_ have a profound effect on their Alpha biology, especially considering they were considered especially compatible with Steve.

They’d been chosen that way for a reason; should anything ever happen to Bucky, bonding sickness would probably knock Steve out cold, and when he would wake up, he’d be in a lot of pain.

Having a compatible Alpha’s pheromones to soothe his stressed nerves would probably be the only thing that would be able to help Steve survive at all, should the worst happen. He hated to even think about it, but URSA had insisted on making sure such protocols were in place, _just in case_.

Steve privately thought it felt like tempting fate, but he kept mum.

“Everybody decent in there?” Dum Dum boomed half a second before he strode into the communal kitchen area, wiggling his great mustache playfully.

“Nope,” Bucky yelled back gleefully, even as Steve shoved him back and slipped past his mate to get to the coffeemaker. He poured himself a cup of decaf coffee and sipped it contently as he watched his mate and Dum Dum posture playfully.

“Everything in order with the cryo chambers?” Steve asked when they were done being _idiots_, pulling up the schedule on his datapad. They followed a pretty rigorous schedule, and to keep their gorgeous glorified tin can in perfect working order, they made sure every system—ven the redundant ones—was checked regularly.

The cryo chambers were only to be used in case of extreme emergency—like complete engine failure—but they did need to be ready to function if such emergency occurred.

“All good, Cap,” Dum Dum replied. “Still freezing.”

Steve chuckled and checked “cryo chambers” off the list of things they needed to do today.

“Gabe and Dernier are working on the payload experiments,” Dum Dum informed him as he chewed on his bread. “Falsie’s setting up comms for our call with Carter and the I.S.S., and I think Morita’s catching up on his personal e-mails.”

Bucky snorted. “That means he’s sexting his girlfriend.”

“So long as he does it on his personal time,” Steve shrugged. He tossed back the last bit of his coffee and turned to raise an eyebrow at Bucky. “Ready to go, Buck? We gotta check in with IRSA before our call with Peggy.”

Bucky looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth stuffed with food. “Okay,” he muttered with his mouth full, smiling at Steve beautifically.

Steve shook his head.

What did he see in this idiot?

————

**Gaia — Sol System, 45 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 39, 2117**

**10:56 a.m.**

**Bucky**

“Alright fellas,” Steve’s voice chirped through the comm, clear and sharp. “You know the rules. Stay in sight of one another, do your thing and return to the HAB without delay. Let’s make Peg and URSA proud, shall we?”

Bucky snorted and recorded the sample he’d taken for Dum Dum, who was busy a few sections over, on his suit’s arm computer. “Stevie, baby, anything I should be concerned about? First the blushing when she hailed us this morning and now this awful need to please her… Should I expect a challenge for your hand the next time we dock at the I.S.S.?”

A chorus of delighted “ooooh”s sounded through the comms, and he didn’t need to _see_ his Omega to know he would be flushed with embarrassment. He wasn’t threatened by Steve’s crush on the older woman—Peggy Carter had been an inspiration for them since their early teens and a veritable _legend_ in the space program at URSA.

Steve had very nearly expired with excitement when they’d first met her.

Bucky didn’t mind. He and Steve had been bonded since their late teens, and Peggy had been happily married since long before they’d met her.

Steve’s crush was mostly born out of admiration and a touch of hero-worship.

“Very funny, Buck,” Steve groused, and Bucky grinned wordlessly.

“You should kick his ass for that, Cap,” Dum Dum suggested cheekily.

Bucky hummed low in his throat. “Please do, sweetheart,” he purred, grinning madly when Steve nudged him _hard_ through their Mating Bond.

“Just get back to what you were doing,” Steve ordered him, but Bucky could feel the fond exasperation rolling off of his mate in _waves_. “This is all we have to do today, when we’re done here, we can go exploring, like I know you’re _dying_ to.”

Bucky wouldn’t deny that he _was_ looking forward to explore Gaia—the surface of the planet looked quite a bit different from the ground than they had expected it to based on satellite images.

Satellite imaging over the past two decades had given them a vague idea of a large, gorgeous planet not entirely dissimilar to Earth, with rolling hills and large lakes, enormous oceans that covered more than 90% of the planet’s surface and lush green almost _everywhere_. None of the satellite images had prepared Bucky for the actual sight of _enormous_ trees, forests that ran further than the eye could see, and trees bigger than the skyscrapers in New-New York.

They’d been planetside for just over thirty sols, but the first few weeks always demanded a lot of preparation and a lot of getting accustomed to the planet’s gravitational field on their part after such a long journey in space.

There had, to Bucky’s great disappointment, been little time to go exploring.

“Well then,” he quipped, “You’ll be pleased to hear that the soil particles in grid section fourteen twenty-nine are nice and fine, which should make them ideal for chem analysis later on.”

“Oh, hear that, fellas?” Gabe scoffed. “One day on botanical duty and Barnes discovered _dirt_. Someone call URSA and tell them the great news.”

A chorus of chuckles and amused snorts echoed across the comms.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes at his friend and fellow-Alpha, even though the other man couldn’t see him. “Tell me again what you’re doing today, Jones. Making sure the GAV is still upright?”

“I’ll have you know visual inspection of the equipment is _imperative_ to mission success,” Gabe insisted. He was silent for a long moment, before he added, “Also, I’d like to officially report that the GAV _is_ still upright.”

Bucky chortled and Steve sighed loudly before he desperately exclaimed, “_Falsworth_, how’s that oxygen analysis coming along? Any progress?”

“Not quite, Captain,” Falsworth replied from inside the HAB, where he was running tests on the amount of oxygen in the air and the soil samples they’d already collected. “There’s a few inconsistencies still. URSA demands we run more tests before we do anything else.”

“See, Jones,” Bucky chuckled, ignoring Steve’s exasperated sigh, “I know my Stevie well enough to know that a sudden change of subject like that means he’d really like you to shut your smart mouth.”

“Oh, speaking for the smart people of Earth,” Falsworth interjected, “we’d much rather you use another, more appropriate adjective to describe Jones’ mouth.” The others _howled_ with laughter, and Bucky couldn’t help but join in, even though he could sense that Steve was running out of patience.

“Uh.. Cap?” Dernier’s hesitant voice broke through the haze of laughter and Bucky was immediately on edge. “You should come inside. I got a mission update from URSA and I.S.S. You’ll want to see this.”

Steve was silent for a moment before Bucky saw him getting to his feet and looking towards the HAB. “What is it, Dernier?”

“_La tempête_,” Dernier uttered. “The storm warning—”

“I saw it in this morning’s briefing,” Steve said dismissively. “We’ll be back in the HAB long before it reaches us, there’s no need to worry.”

Bucky frowned. Steve’s words were reassuring enough, but he could _feel _the anxiety roll off of his Omega in waves. He bagged his last sample and stood too, drawing Steve’s attention easily. “What’s up, fellas?”

Dernier sighed audibly. “You should all come inside. The storm… It is coming sooner, and it will be bigger than they originally thought it would be.”

Almost like his words had summoned the clouds, the horizon darkened noticeably, and the wind picked up, blowing the loose earth across Bucky’s feet. He looked towards Steve again, his stomach sinking—if the storm was as bad as it looked…

He’d rather not think about it.

“Alright fellas,” he said, forcing more cheer into his voice than he felt. “You heard the man. Wrap up.”

————

**12:48 p.m. **

**Steve **

He looked at the update URSA had sent them with a sense of foreboding curdling in the pit of his stomach.

He’d hoped that Dernier was overreacting a little, or that URSA had somehow gotten the readings wrong, but Falsworth had checked it against the data that came in through their own equipment, and it looked like the storm was exactly as big as URSA was predicting it would be.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

Bucky moved closer, brushing his hand across the small of Steve’s back, and he relaxed into the soothing touch. “Fifteen-hundred kilometers in diameter,” he said quietly. “61.52 degrees… It’s coming straight for us.” The others groaned wordlessly, and Steve shook his head before he continued reading. “Based on current escalation, estimate a force of…” he broke off and blinked. “_Shit_. _Ninety-three hundred_ Newtons.”

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered.

“That’s _way_ above abort force,” Dum Dum uttered quietly. “Isn’t it?”

“Oui,” Dernier nodded solemnly, eyeing the screen dubiously. “Abort force is seventy-five hundred. More than that, and the GAV will tip over.”

Steve shook his head.

They were only a month into a mission that was supposed to last a year and a half, and _God_, he didn’t want to scrub the mission already. On the other hand, they couldn’t risk the GAV tipping over; the GAV was their only way off the planet, and if it tipped, they ran the risk of explosion _and_ they’d never get it upright ever again.

They could ride out the storm in the HAB, more than likely, since it was built to withstand a lot more than the storm that was coming, but they’d have no control over the GAV.

“So…” Steve looked up when Gabe spoke. “That mean we’re scrubbed?”

Everyone turned to look at him, and Steve ran the odds again. “Yeah,” he finally sighed. The risk of the GAV tipping was too big. “Begin abort procedure. Dernier, alert URSA.”

He could _feel_ the disappointment radiating off of the others, and when Bucky said, “Doll, you sure? Maybe it won’t be as bad as they say.” The others made small, humming noises of agreement, and Steve sighed.

“They _are_ estimating with a margin of error,” Falsworth said slowly. “We could wait it out.”

Steve looked around the room, taking in the concerned expressions of his teammates, eyes coming to rest on his mate’s furrowed brow last. “Let’s wait it out,” Bucky pleaded.

Steve shook his head. “Risk is too big, guys. Prep for emergency departure.”

“Cap,” Dum Dum began, but Steve cut him off.

“No. We’re scrubbed, guys. Get ready.” He didn’t wait for them to follow his order, setting off towards the bunks to shut down the computers there.

They’d be fine.

He’d rather scrub the mission than risk them getting stuck on a deserted planet and dying of hunger, thirst or boredom, or risk trying to wait out the storm, only for the HAB to get breached and their oxygen to get sucked out so they’d all choke to death.

Better to leave Gaia early with seven healthy astronauts rather than stay and end up with seven dead ones.

————

**4:28 p.m.**

**Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan**

In the few hours they’d needed to wrap everything up and secure the HAB, the storm had hit them hard. It’d only been going on for an hour or so, but Morita had already started making concerned noises about the strength of the howling wind and the GAV’s fragile stability, and it put them all on edge.

Gaia’s version of thunder was _deafening_, and the flashes of lightning were so bright and lasted so long, they could almost be mistaken for regular daylight.

He looked out one of the HAB’s windows, frowning at the torrential downpour. He could barely see anything at all—a darkness much more like the dark they’d expected on a planet this far removed from the sun. Gaia had proven nothing like they’d expected, with temperatures that ranged between seven degrees Celsius and twenty-one degrees Celsius; they hadn’t been planetside long enough to determine any sort of pattern to the weather, but Dugan suspected there was a lot more to this place than they’d thought.

He hated breaking off the mission so early, but…

Cap was right. The risk was too big—this storm had the strength to destroy the HAB and the GAV, and they couldn’t run that risk.

“Alright,” Cap called out when they’d all managed to assemble by the airlock. “Visibility is almost zero, and there’s a chance that the rain is acidic. Let’s get to the GAV as quickly as we can, no dawdling. If you get lost, home in on my suit’s telemetry.” He swallowed thickly, and Dugan felt uncomfortably aware, suddenly, of how young this kid was, and how few missions he had under his belt.

“We’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “We got this, Cap.”

Steve smiled gratefully and nodded. “Wind’s gonna be a lot rougher once we move away from the HAB, so…” he sighed, and Dugan watched as Barnes subtly reached out to run a hand down his Omega’s arm. Rogers looked heartened by the Alpha’s touch, and Dugan smiled a little before Rogers said, “...brace yourself, guys.”

Dugan took a second to catalogue his suit, to make sure that everything was in order, before Rogers opened the airlock, and the wind and rain slammed into them.

“Shit,” Dugan cursed as they struggled to make their way forward. Fortunately, it didn’t look like the rain was acidic, like it had been on Venus, nor were they pelted with grains of sand going faster than bullets, like Dugan had gone through on Mars, but the wind was strong enough to nearly blow him off his feet.

He could hear the other guys’ labored breath over the comms, and his muscles ached with the strain of every inch he managed to move forward.

“We could shore up the GAV,” Barnes said suddenly, panting lightly as he spoke.

Dugan didn’t see what good that would do at this point—they could hardly stop and do anything, they’d be blown away by the damned wind—but Rogers seemed to be in the mood to humor his mate. “How?” he demanded curtly, but Dugan could hear the strain in his voice.

“We got the cables from the solar farm,” Bucky panted, and Dugan realized that it was not that the kid _actually_ wanted to do something, just that he _needed_ to keep talking so he’d keep going. “The rovers,” Bucky continued shakily, “the rovers could be anchors, so we could—_shit_,” he cried, and Dugan spun around just in time to see the kid shove Rogers forward harshly, making the Omega stumble into Morita, who’d been plowing ahead in front of him, before something large smashed _right into_ Barnes, lifting him clear off his feet and throwing him so far Dum Dum couldn’t see him anymore.

“BUCKY!” Steve _screamed_, struggling back to his feet, but he was swaying so much he couldn’t quite get his feet under him. The sight of him made Dugan feel sick to his stomach, because the only reason Rogers would be so extremely affected so quickly was if Barnes was… if he was dead or dying.

Shit.

“What happened?” Morita yelled, helping Rogers to his feet.

“Something hit him—” Falsworth said shakily, turning his head to search for Barnes. “—I couldn’t see. Barnes, report. _Barnes_, _report, damn you_—”

“Gabe,” he said hoarsely, but the others ignored him.

“He’s offline,” Gabe choked. “I don’t know where he is. His decompression alarm went off, but—”

“_Gabe_,” Dugan ground out, grabbing the other Alpha by the arm to get his attention. “Listen to me. Get Rogers into the GAV, prep for launch. I’ll look for Barnes.”

“No!” Rogers screamed, struggling against Gabe and Morita when they _finally _moved and grabbed his arms. “No! Let me _go_! I need to _get him_! Let me _go!”_

His voice became shriller and more hysterical with each word, and Dugan could see the sickness setting in—he couldn’t risk losing Rogers too, if Barnes really was…

If he was…

“Steve,” he boomed as loudly as he could, infusing as much Alpha into his voice as he could. Rogers froze in Morita’s and Gabe’s arms, just long enough for the other Alpha and Beta to drag him to the GAV’s ladder. “Go,” Dum Dum added. “I promise I’ll look for him. I’ll get him.”

Steve whined, a high, instinctual sound of distress that made _all _of Dugan’s instincts go haywire. “I’ll _get _him, Rogers,” Dum Dum repeated harshly.

The fight went out of Rogers entirely, and Dugan exhaled in relief. “Everyone else, home in on Morita, get to the GAV. I’ll—I’ll be there as soon as I’ve found him.”

“How long can he survive decompression?” Dernier asked in a small voice.

“Less than a minute,” Falsworth whispered, barely audible over the howl of the storm.

“There might be enough oxygen in the air though,” Morita argued shakily. “He might be alive.”

“I’ll find him if he is,” Dugan insisted. “Now line up and walk to the GAV. Small steps, guys, he might be prone. We don’t want to step over him.”

Dugan walked ahead slowly, his own breath wheezing loudly in his own ears.

“Dugan,” Morita started apprehensively. “We’re already at an eight degree tilt—it’s gonna tip at twelve-point-three. We don’t have long.”

“Copy that,” Dugan replied.

God, he couldn’t _leave_ Barnes here, even if he was… he couldn’t—

The Alpha was just a _kid_.

“His bio-monitor sent something before going offline,” Falsworth said. “Dernier, I can’t see it—”

“It—” Dernier hesitated. “It says BP zero, PR zero, TP thirty-six-point-two. Blood pressure and pulse zero, temperature normal.”

“Temperature normal?” Dugan croaked, feeling like he might be sick.

“It takes a while,” Falsworth said quietly, hesitantly. “For the body to… to cool.”

Dugan choked. “He might not—there’s still a chance—”

“That GAV’s at eleven degrees,” Morita announced.

“Dum Dum,” Falsworth said. “He’s gone. I know you don’t want to hear it, but Bucky’s _gone_. I had to sedate Rogers because he was going feral—you know as well as I do what that means. He’s gone. Please, we don’t—we can’t lose you as well.”

Dugan stared out into the darkness desperately, breathing heavily. “Copy,” he finally said, voice hoarse and eyes burning with unshed tears. “On my way.”

He turned around, back towards the GAV, and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Barnes,” he whispered, before struggling towards the airlock and tearing off his suit as soon as he’s able. He moved towards the flight cabin on auto-pilot, stopping for a second to check on Steve, who was passed out in his seat, tear tracks still wet on his cheeks.

Dugan stomach churned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, before he forced himself to move towards his own seat, strapping himself in with shaking hands.

For a moment, none of them speak.

“Ready for launch,” Morita said quietly.

Dugan nodded wordlessly, because he was certain that if he opened his mouth, he might throw up. Barnes—Barnes was a friend, and he was _young_, he and Rogers planned to start a family as soon as they finished this mission…

He couldn’t—

“I’m sorry, Dugan, I need verbal—”

“Launch,” Dugan croaked. “Let’s go.”

—————————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 44.4 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 43, 2117**

**Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan**

Dum Dum rubbed his hand across his forehead and settled back into his seat heavily.

His call with Houston, URSA’s base on Mars, had gone about as well as it possibly could have, considering they’d lost several thousands of galleons worth of experiments, one highly trained astronaut and had a bond-sick, grieving Omega astronaut on board.

URSA had spent millions on this mission, and thousands on their individual training. There had been a lot of protest, Dugan remembered, when Barnes and Rogers had been chosen for the mission, and he figured URSA was probably worried this tragedy would lead to a lot of blowback for them.

Steve was all but entirely incapacitated, leaving the Howlies—as Dum Dum privately liked to think of their team—two men short.

In time, he supposed he and Gabe _would_ be able to use their pheromones to calm Steve, to help him through his heat when it came, but right now, with the wound of the shattered bond so fresh, all the scent of other Alphas did was drive Steve near-catatonic while he pleaded for his mate to return.

Dum Dum startled a little when Gabe fell into the seat beside his, dressed in sweatpants and a faded URSA hoodie, looking about as shitty as Dum Dum felt.

“How’s Steve?” he asked hoarsely.

“Not well,” Gabe growled frustratedly. “He and Bucky had a really strong bond. Bond sickness is making him weaker—he refuses to eat—” the other Alpha sighed. “He’s not going to last like this. But it’s not like we can… like we can force him to get over it. He literally just lost half of his soul, it’s a miracle he made it this far—”

“Hey,” Dugan interjected, resting his hand atop the other man’s. “Don’t think like that.”

“And Barnes,” Gabe choked, looking down abruptly to hide his tears. “I can’t believe he’s—”

“Me either,” Dum Dum admitted, wiping at his own tears.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat together in silence, sharing their grief as a pack—a _family_—before Gabe cleared his throat. “Steve’s heat’s coming up,” he said quietly. “It’s too soon, but I saw in Bucky’s notes that they made him change suppressants again once we got to Gaia. I think it’s probably down to that.”

He blinked up at Dum Dum and swallowed thickly. “What are we going to do?”

Dum Dum looked down and steeled himself. “Whatever we have to. Barnes died to save Rogers—pushed him out of the way. We’re not going to have his death be in vain.”

Gabe nodded shakily. “For Barnes, then.”

Dum Dum nodded too.

“For Barnes.”

—————————————

**Gaia — Sol System, 45 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 40, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

The air, when he gasped awake, still tasted of electricity, and the stench of burnt ozone lingered in his nostrils.

Bucky blinked in confusion.

He was—mercifully—astonishingly—absurdly… alive.

——————


	4. Two

### Two

**Alexandria, Egypt **—** Earth   
Sol 43, 2117**

**Rebecca “Becca” Barnes**

She stared at the screen before her with unseeing eyes, and wrapped her arms around her torso.

_Mission scrubbed. Barnes KIA. Rogers incapacitated by acute BoS. _

“Oh my God,” she choked, exhaling roughly, tears burning in her eyes. “Oh my God. _Bucky_.” She couldn’t—he was her big brother, he _couldn’t _be—

“Barnes?”

She jumped, swivelling around in her wheelie chair to find Brock Rumlow—one of the mission control guys who’d been around _forever_, who’d helped her when she first started working here—standing behind her, brow furrowed into a concerned frown. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I—” she choked, gesturing back to the screen, tears spilling over her cheeks. “My brother—he—”

Rumlow’s frown deepened and he leaned over her shoulder to look at the message she’d gotten. He paled abruptly. “Shit,” he cursed. “_Shit_. Oh, kid. I’m sorry you heard about it like this.” She let him manhandle her out of her chair and into a tight hug, sinking into the embrace gratefully, unable to hold back her tears.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, in the middle of the mission control center at Stark Space Center, but eventually, her tears slowed, and she remembered how to _breathe_.

“Come on,” Brock told her gently. “Philips will have more information.”

“Do you know anything?” she asked him as she followed him out of the MCS and towards the offices on the third floor. “Have you heard anything? Why was the mission scrubbed?”

Brock shook his head. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m not high-up enough to get access to that info as it happens.”

Becca exhaled shakily and followed Brock blindly, tears running down her cheeks. She couldn’t… she couldn’t really think straight. Brock was still talking, but her mind felt a little dazed, like she couldn’t… like she couldn’t really process anything he was saying properly. 

She couldn’t really think of anything that would be important enough _to_ register—something important enough to draw her attention from her brother and Steve.

Logically, she knew her own body and mind well enough to know that she was in shock. The memo she’d seen had been meant to brief all MCC employees who worked on the Gaia mission on the happenings of the mission—she’d read hundreds of them since the mission started—but… but it looked like they’d forgotten Bucky and Steve Barnes-Rogers’ little sister was part of that team too.

She was certain they would have pulled her aside to tell her the news in private, otherwise, because there was no way they’d risk this getting out before they had the media angle under control.

Becca had been with URSA long enough to know that, for all their talk of wanting to explore to create a better world—a better universe—they were still ruled by an unholy amount of politics.

“Colonel Philips,” Brock spoke, breaking her out of her stupor long enough to realize he had somehow managed to drag her all the way to Philips’ office without her realizing. “I’ve got James Barnes’s sister here,” Brock continued, and there was a moment of silence from the office before she heard someone swear—rather creatively—and the sound of chairs scraping across the floor.

“Send her in, Rumlow,” a gruff male voice ordered curtly.

Brock nodded at her, inclining his head towards the open office door. “Go on, kiddo,” he offered kindly, and she wondered if he would always be so kind to her from now on. Rumlow was, while not unkind at all, usually a more… _gruff_ persona. He was a decent enough person, just a little rough around the edges.

She didn’t know him very well outside of work, but he’d never gossiped about her behind her back—Natasha would have known—and he’d helped her settle in when she was new.

It wasn’t always easy, being a female Alpha in a world that was still adjusting to the reality of her very existence. A lot of men were entirely freaked out by the fact that she could get a girl pregnant too, should she want to, one day, and for a lot of straight “Betas”—as most of the Alpha-Omega community called people without an active AO gene—the idea of sleeping with someone who also had a penis; albeit one that didn’t really show unless she was in rut; was too much.

Brock hadn’t ever given any sort of indication that it bothered him though.

He’d treated her just like anyone else.

And now he’d brought her to the only person that could tell her what had happened to her brother.

“Thank you,” she told him sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t mention it, kid.”

She swallowed thickly and watched as he walked away for a moment, before she turned back towards Philips’ office. She took a moment to steel herself, to make sure she wouldn’t break down in her superior’s office, before striding inside.

Philips was seated behind his desk, a grim expression on his face. He looked up when she entered and waved her into the room. “Ms. Barnes. Please, have a seat.”

She did as he said, hiding just how badly her hands were shaking by tangling her fingers together and pressing her fingers between her knees. Philips just _looked_ at her for a moment before he sighed heavily and took off his glasses, placing them on his desk. “You saw the memo,” he said, and it was decidedly _not_ a question.

“Yes, sir,” she answered nonetheless.

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry you heard about… that you found out this way. The memo wasn’t supposed to be sent until you, and the rest of your family, had been notified. I assure you, I’m going to find who sent it, and we’re gonna have a conversation they’re not going to enjoy.”

Becca couldn’t hide the waver in her voice as she asked, “So it’s true?”

Philips stopped moving the various holoscreens he had projected on his screen and looked at her with a pained expression. “I’m very sorry to say that it is, Ms. Barnes.” He leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “Early yesterday morning, an extremely violent storm hit the Elysium Fields, where—as you well know—the team had set up the HAB. Captain Rogers gave the order for emergency evacuation. While they were making their way to the GAV, your brother was struck by debris and flung away. His bio monitors showed he died almost immediately.” He swallowed and offered her a sympathetic grimace. “He didn’t suffer. Rogers—your brother-in-law—went almost feral, so they sedated him.”

Becca choked back a sob, hunching in on herself as she struggled to keep it together.

Philips, kindly, let her have a moment.

She took a few deep, calming breaths before she looked up at him again, glaring at him defiantly. “Have you contacted my parents yet?”

Philips shook his head. “Stark offered to go and tell them. Said it might be better to hear it from him.”

Becca’s lower lip wobbled, and she nodded reluctantly. While Tony was more Steve and Bucky’s friend, they had all known him for over a decade. Her parents _would_ probably take the news better coming from Tony than from an URSA representative.

“And my sister?” she asked.

Gracie was a pilot, running minor missions for URSA. She mostly stuck to smaller scientific runs to Mars and Venus, and occasionally Neptune, when URSA had need of a skilled pilot—she’d left the bigger missions, the _glorious_ missions, to Steve and Bucky.

She was, if Becca’s memory served correctly, piloting one of the minor lunar expeditions at this moment. She wasn’t due back for another month, but…

Becca felt sick to her stomach when she considered keeping their brother’s fate from her until then.

Philips harrumphed.

“I’ve sent a replacement to her location already, but I haven’t broken the news to her yet.” He raised one silver, bushy eyebrow at her. “I’m assuming you’d like to be the one to tell her?”

Becca nodded shakily.

Philips nodded. “Very well. Feel free to use one of the conference rooms. Take as long as you need.”

Becca nodded again, shakily, and got to her feet unsteadily, heading for the door without much conscious thought.

“Barnes,” Philips said before she opened the door.

She turned.

“Take some time off,” he offered. “Your sister can return to Earth in the shuttle that delivered her replacement. One of the jets will be ready so you two can be returned to New-New York… See your parents… have a funeral.”

Becca’s lower lip trembled again. “Thank you, sir.”

She left without another word, striding through the corridors briskly until she found an empty conference room with a door that locked. Through blurry eyes, she set up the screen and set the call to connect with the Lunar Center her sister was staying at.

“Hey,” she said shakily when the call connected and her sister appeared on the screen. “Gracie, I—I need you to sit down. I gotta tell you something.

—————————

**Gaia — Sol System, 42 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 43, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

Bucky’s entire body was shaking violently by the time he managed to press a bloodied hand against the release hatch for the HAB’s airlock. He’d been in and out of consciousness for days, and while his suit had been torn beyond repair and his dome helmet shattered into tiny little pieces, he hadn’t choked on the air, and he hadn’t imploded, so…

Small victories.

They’d known, of course, that Gaia had a similar atmosphere to Earth, but considering they hadn’t been certain whether or not the air itself was poisonous, NASA had insisted they don an adapted version of the suits worn on the first missions to Mars.

The downside was that said adapted suit was now torn and ripped and covered in dirt and dried blood, and Bucky was fucking _cold_. It’d taken him nearly three full days to limp his way back to the HAB, his left arm uselessly and haphazardly tied to his chest, a broken-off piece of antenna still stuck straight through his bicep, because he wasn’t sure if it’d hit an artery and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

He’d have to make it to his lab, where he’d at least have access to a blood transfusion—because he’d _need_ one, he’d lost far too much blood already—and better medical equipment than his torn off sleeve that now served as a makeshift tourniquet.

“Come on,” Bucky panted as the HAB’s airlock whizzed, pressurizing the airlock before the door finally, mercifully, clicked open and Bucky could stumble into the HAB.

He struggled through the main area of the HAB, stumbling through the kitchen area and into the labs, nearly falling face-first into the large, cushioned table he used for examinations. The plastic, bright blue covers cushioned his fall, and he barely managed to avoid hitting his injured arm on the armrest.

“_Fuck_,” he swore empathically.

He managed to draw himself up onto the table with one shaking, weak arm, keeping his injured arm clutched to his chest. Fortunately, he’d left the little tray table with most of the things he needed right next to the table, so he didn’t need to move anymore.

Slowly, trembling, he tried to peel off what was left of the suit, not bothering to conceal his pained whimper when he had to pick the fabric from the rough edges, where it had congealed into a thick crust of dried blood and stray fabric.

The antenna had gone straight through his arm, but without an actual quantum field generator—like they’d had aboard the _Hermes_—he wouldn’t be able to see what it hit.

He’d have to get it out anyway.

He briefly considered using Cho’s Cradle—the newest model, complete with a highly intelligent A.I. and robot arms that were capable of performing most routine surgeries without issue—but decided against it. He didn’t want to risk being knocked out—the Cradle wouldn’t operate, literally, without having administered a dose of anesthesia. He may very well still be suffering from a concussion or a skull fracture, considering the impact had been severe enough to shatter his domed helmet, and he could fix his arm himself.

He just needed to clean it out entirely and discern whether there were any torn veins before he could cover the wound with Banner’s green sealant foam.

After he sealed it, he’d be able to give himself a blood transfusion—because he didn’t need to check to know his blood pressure was dangerously low due to the blood loss he’d suffered—with one of the bags URSA had thankfully insisted they keep at the HAB too.

“Okay,” he exhaled shakily, reaching for the tourniquet in his kit with trembling hands. He loosened the other, makeshift tourniquet slowly, hissing at the small trickle of blood that immediately started dripping from the wound. He didn’t immediately fasten the new tourniquet, taking the time to massage his lower arm to get the blood flowing again.

He had no desire to lose his arm altogether.

“Okay,” he told himself when the blood had sufficiently reached the tips of his fingers again, reaching for the tourniquet and the syringe with local anesthetic.

“Okay. You can do this. Come on.”

He wiped at his forehead impatiently to keep the sweat from getting in his eyes, before he steadied the tourniquet with his chin, grabbing it firmly in his good hand and taking a deep breath. Before he tightened the tourniquet, he stabbed the needle into his bicep, just below the wound, and waited for the telltale numbness to spread.

He waited for a solid few minutes, to make sure it’d spread wide enough, and then yanked the tourniquet back into place, crying out in pain. He managed to fasten it with shaking fingers, gasping for breath unevenly, and then collapsing back onto the bed.

“Fuck,” he swore again, taking a moment to catch his breath before he steeled himself and tentatively reached out to touch the bottom of the antenna where it stuck out.

No ragged edges, only smooth, polished metal.

Well.

That was _something_, at least.

Breathing deeply, he reached for the upper part of the antenna, curling his fingers around it tightly. “God, I don’t wanna do this,” he choked, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing himself this single moment of hesitation before he pulled the antenna straight up and _out_.

He cried out in pain again, vision blurring and his head spinning. “Don’t pass out,” he told himself sternly, trying to ignore the abrupt nausea that welled up. “Do not pass out, Barnes.”

He dropped the antenna as soon as it was out, gaping at the perfectly circular wound in his upper arm. He tried not to think too hard about being able to see straight through his own arm, and chose instead to feel relieved that he could see the bone of his arm was unbroken.

Hallelujah.

He reached out for the disinfectant spray and spilled half of the bottle over the cotton balls and swabs with his shaking hand. “Shit,” he cursed, grabbing one of the cotton balls to carefully disinfect the rough edges of the wound, before dropping it back onto the tray and reaching for one of the swabs.

He gently poked at the inner edges of the wound, gasping for breath at the intense _pain_ that shot like lightning through his entire arm. He should really rinse the wound instead of poking at it like this, but he could barely move enough to disinfect it this way, much less any other.

It took several long, agonizing minutes to thoroughly clean the wound, and by the time he was done, and able to reach for Banner’s green sealant foam, he was sweating and weak, his entire body shaking, and his blood pressure probably dangerously low. He sprayed the foam onto his arm without much ado, slapping a large bandage sloppily on both the entry and the exit wound to keep the foam from rubbing off, and collapsed back onto the bed.

He tried to catch his breath, eyes squeezed shut as he listened to the eerie silence in the HAB. It wasn’t _silent_, by any means, of course, because he could hear the steady hum of the water reclaimer and the strong beat of the ventilation system and the oxygenator, but…

There were no cheery voices arguing about what to eat in the kitchen, no deafening snores from the bunks, no quiet footsteps echoing in the hallways.

He was alone.

Stevie probably thought he was dead, because there was no way he would have left, otherwise. The _team_ must’ve thought him gone.

He exhaled shakily and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t been able to pay attention to it before, but now that the ache in his arm had been reduced to a dull, throbbing pain, he could feel the painful _roar_ of the empty Bond echoing through his entire body.

Separation sickness.

Alone.

On a planet. By himself.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, with feeling.

———————

**New-New York, United States of America — Earth   
Sol 50, 2117**

**Sarah Barnes-Rogers**

Sarah Barnes-Rogers stood tall beside her step-son’s empty urn, hands clasped tightly around her distressed mate’s, barely able to keep her lip from curling in distaste at the sight of URSA’s top brass entering the room.

While she was aware that no one would begrudge her, as an Alpha mother who had lost her son—her _pack_, even if he had not been hers by blood—her anger…

She did not wish to give these _distasteful, horrible_ men the satisfaction of seeing her anger.

She laid the blame for Bucky’s demise solely at their feet, surely, because she knew the men that flew with her boys, had had all of them over for dinner dozens of times over the years that the boys spent training for this mission. She knew that not a single one of those men would have left Gaia without her second son unless there was no other way.

She knew that they would protect her other boy… her poor, brokenhearted Stevie, who was suffering and alone, and _so far away_ she couldn’t help him.

But those men…

She growled beneath her breath, anger coursing through her veins, and glared at the three men. These men would use her sons’ love and tragedy for their own gain, to sell more _space flights_, to convince other sons and daughters to give up their lives in pursuit of dreams they might never reach, to lose their lives in the process and leave devastated families—

These men, and these men alone, were at fault for the way her lovely mate shook with quiet sobs, for the grief that was wreaking havoc on Winnie’s body, setting it to tremble like a leaf in a storm.

Her Winnie—her beautiful, strong, indomitable Winnifred—had already been through so much during her time on God’s green Earth, and she had not only survived, but she had _thrived_. She had taken her sadness and grief and she had forged it into diamonds, wearing them proudly, but even the strongest had their limits, and Sarah feared that Winnie might never recover from losing her son.

Especially in her current condition.

Sarah slipped her hand across the curve of Winnie’s swollen belly subconsciously. Sarah would protect her at all costs, her instincts honed to a sharp edge over the years and now ready to be used on or against anyone who would hurt what was _hers_.

She’d never considered herself a slave to her Alpha instincts before, but she understood the phrase as she never had before now. She glanced towards their two daughters, standing tall and identical, shiny tear tracks on both their cheeks, their hands curled around each other and Winnie, providing the much-needed emotional and physical support for her mate as Sarah prepared to intercept the delegation URSA had sent.

She recognized all three men, and had even met with them on a few separate occasions. Colonel Philips was friendly enough, if a little grouchy, at times, and she had heard good things about Mr. Rumlow from Rebecca when she had relocated to Egypt to start working with URSA.

Mr. Pierce, on the other hand… there was something about the smarmy man that made her skin crawl. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that bothered her about the man—he was perfectly polite, and he seemed thoughtful about voicing his opinions—but there was _something_, and she had no patience nor desire to deal with the man today of all days.

She need not, however, have worried.

“Gentlemen!” Tony Stark’s voice preceded the Omega into the room, smoothly drawing the three men away from the Barnes-Rogers clan. The sight of the pack-adjacent Omega eased the painful knot in Sarah’s chest, because it felt _good_ to see him flushed with health, his belly swollen with his and his mates’ child. The glance he shot Sarah and her pack’s way was filled with gentle understanding, and he nodded at her before resting one hand gently on his six-month rounded stomach and turning towards the URSA men again.

Pepper and Jim followed together just a step behind their husband as the man launched into a meandering and very likely pointlessly detailed conversation about… something to do with Stark Industries, and Sarah would have smirked at the way all three URSA men could barely hide their glowering if it weren’t for the circumstances of this gathering.

A memorial for her son in all but blood, in URSA’s Hall of Honor.

The room was handsome enough, she supposed, decorated with equally handsome but pointless flowers and flags while they mourned over an empty urn. Soon, there would be a speech by URSA filled with beautiful meaningless words, and the flags—nation of birth, planet, and final mission—would be folded with military precision before both the urn and flags would be placed in the empty nook that now held a shiny golden nameplate with her son’s name embossed on it.

It felt _meaningless_.

Her son was not _in there_, he was lost somewhere on a distant planet, and while she could… while she could, in time, come to accept his death if God had truly decreed it so…

She did not think she could do it unless he was _here_, with his family, where he belonged.

Not separated from his mate, her flesh and blood, her precious Stevie—who was entirely inconsolable, and so lost in the throes of Bond Sickness that they had not even been able to speak to him. She had experienced a Bond shattering once, when her Joseph had passed right after giving birth to Steve. To this day, she was certain she had only lived because Steven had needed her to, because her son captured enough of her heart to keep her will to live alive.

Her bond with Joseph had not nearly been as strong as the one her son shared with Bucky though, and they had no pups that would encourage the Omega to keep going.

Losing Joseph had nearly destroyed her, and Sarah was loathe to think about how she would fare should she ever be forced to live through the loss of her Winnie…

She feared such a loss—a second shattered bond—might be too much.

She exhaled in a shuddering gasp and turned back to her girls, blinking back tears as she pressed herself against her mate, letting their daughters wrap their arms around them both. She breathed in deeply, relishing in the familiar scent of their family, even through the scent of their mourning.

Winnie gasped, just a little, and froze. Sarah was immediately on alert, a growl caught halfway in her throat before Winnie grabbed one of Sarah’s hands in both of hers and pressed it against her ever-growing stomach.

Sarah whined, low and deep as she felt one of the very first kicks of her child, her _baby_, against the palm of her hand where it lay on her mate’s belly.

Winnie pressed one hand against Sarah’s cheek and then turned to nuzzle her daughters before pressing her forehead against Sarah’s.

“I wish he… I wish he were _here_,” Winnie whispered, her lips ghosting over Sarah’s.

“He’s here, ma,” Gracie said gently, into the sudden silence, and conviction laced her voice—their strong, beautiful Omega girl.

And Bucky _was_ with them; wrapped around their souls and minds and hearts and lives. Every step they took, every choice they made, every last thing they did would be steeped in the knowledge that their brother, their _child_, was with them.

Sarah felt her tears finally lose their fight against gravity as they slipped down her cheeks. She smiled, contentment tempered by a deep pit of grief, warring with the joy of the life of her second… _fifth_ child growing steadily, surely, within her mate’s womb.

Sheltered from the pain and desolation battering them all on the outside.

Her baby would never know their brother—their Bucky—and would never know the vibrant and joyous man Steve used to be before he lost his whole world, but they would insure their baby was _loved_, and that it knew its older brother would have loved them more than anything in the world.

They would survive, and they would_ live_.

For Bucky.

———————

**Gaia — Sol System, 42 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 53, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

Bucky sat cross legged in front of one of the large windows, Steve’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders to ward off the light chill. After he had managed to give himself a much-needed blood transfusion, and had secured his injured arm to his chest with a sling, he’d quickly realized that the trembling in his hands and the nausea that constantly haunted him were not due to his injuries, but separation sickness.

He was loathe to think how Steve would be coping.

Bucky, at least, was able to hang onto the knowledge that Steve was alive, and that the others would be taking care of him, would be ensuring his survival long enough to get his Omega back to their family—their pack.

Their mothers and sisters would take care of Steve, would make sure he _lived_, and right now, that was enough to keep Bucky going. He wasn’t exactly _hopeful_ about his own chances; even if he did, somehow, manage to survive without starving, dehydrating, or imploding, he’d still be trapped on a desolate planet by himself, separated from his Omega by _lightyears_.

It probably wouldn’t take long before Separation Sickness drove him mad.

If he went feral, there’d be no coming back.

There’d never been anyone who’d gone fully feral who’d been able to make a full recovery.

He sighed.

It wouldn’t do him any good to just sit here. He wasn’t going to die here—and if he _was_, it would certainly not be because he didn’t try his fucking _hardest_. He forced himself to his feet, and trudged through the HAB until he reached the lab. The silence still rattled him, and he _hated_ being in the lab by himself, but he needed his things.

He rummaged around in the mess he’d left on his desk the last time he’d been in here until he unearthed his StarkPad and his laptop, settling down in the kitchen.

Even without doing any sort of calculations, Bucky was pretty sure he wouldn’t be running out of food anytime soon. Their surface mission was meant to last eighteen months, and for redundancy’s sake, they’d been given twenty months worth of food—for _seven_ people.

He could make that last _years_ by himself.

The real issue, he mused, was water.

The water reclaimer was enough for now, and it’d last him a while, for sure, but eventually, it would break. It wasn’t designed for long term use, and he doubted it would outlive its life expectancy by much—which would leave him with only about twelve more months to figure out how to get more water.

It wasn’t the most pressing issue.

But it _was_ an issue.

First and foremost, though, he needed to figure out a way to contact URSA.

Without a satellite dish or an antenna.

Great.

———————

**Gaia — Sol System, 42 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 57, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

Bucky didn’t realize he was trying to build a nest just the way Steve liked it until he found himself growling in frustration when he couldn’t find Steve’s favorite teddy bear—he’d been building nests for Steve since they were babies, and he’d never built one without Green Bear in it. The teddy bear was the only thing Steve had that was his Omega father’s, and Steve had confided in Bucky that he hoped he could pass it on to their own baby one day.

The ragged little teddy bear was worn down and certainly _looked_ its age, but it smelt like them, like pack, like _family_, and Bucky couldn’t imagine a proper nest without it.

He growled agitatedly, pacing back and forth a few times before he managed to calm himself down.

Steve had taken the bear with him when they evacuated the HAB—he knew that.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t put Green Bear in the nest, and it didn’t matter if the nest was up to Steve’s standards, because Steve wasn’t here to see it, and Bucky was enough of a slave to his instincts going haywire to forget, sometimes.

He knew this was a part of separation sickness, just like the way his skin crawled was, and the way his hands shook every time he realized Steve’s scent was growing thinner in the air. He’d had a lot of practice dealing with being away from Steve while Steve was undergoing the medical trial with Erskine, and again during their training, but…

There was something different about the feeling when he knew the odds were decidedly against him.

He curled up in the dark little nook, wrapping himself entirely in the blanket that still smelled of Steve, digging his nose into the soft fabric of Steve’s favorite URSA sweater, and exhaled shakily. His arm hurt, he was tired and he felt sluggish, even though he’d slept through the night, and he still hadn’t figured out how to make the water reclaimer last longer, and he was no closer to figuring out how to contact URSA than he was yesterday.

He missed Steve like a physical _ache_.

It felt like he was missing a limb, and he _knew_ he could push past it, that he could keep going, but… Lord, he was just far too tired.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he’d try again.

He inhaled the soothing scent of his mate and closed his eyes again.

Tomorrow.

———————

**Gaia — Sol System, 42 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 61, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

Bucky shook as he tied off the knot on the bandage—tighter, maybe, than was advisable, but the sting of pain that came with it quickly morphed into a calming buzz. The tightness felt like a relief from the almost constant pain of the past few days—maybe weeks, even.

He knew that it hadn’t always hurt like this, and that the pain was decidedly _not_ a good sign, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t bring himself to _care_ more. It was enough that the tight bandage distracted from the deep, burning ache that had lodged itself deep within his bicep and would not dissipate, regardless of the antibiotics he took or the painkillers he tried.

He grimaced again and cinched the end of the bandage down, turning his mind to more pressing and pertinent problems.

Water. Storms. Contacting Earth. _Steve. _Water. Going fucking _feral_ without even noticing.

He exhaled shakily and glanced towards the water reclaimer. “Alright,” he told himself firmly, settling down in his work space, trying not to let the amount of work he had to do overwhelm him. “Let’s get to it. Re-establishing communication with URSA satellites without a satellite dish or antenna. Yay.”

He stared at the computer screen blankly.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know enough about interplanetary communication, or that he was entirely incapable of _fixing_ a satellite dish or antenna when it was damaged—it was that there wasn’t anything left for him _to _fix. He could probably throw together a rudimentary dish out of scrap metal from around the base, but he wasn’t just working to fix a walkie talkie.

He blinked blearily at the screen of his Stark laptop when it jumped to screensaver.

A picture of the very first rover URSA had sent to Gaia popped up, and Bucky smiled despite himself. He remembered the day it’d been deployed—he and Steve had still been finishing up high school then, and had been glued to their television the entire day, waiting for the signal to turn on and to show them images from the gorgeous, mysterious planet.

He’d found it remarkable, to see crystal clear images of dark forests and deep blue rivers, of sandy plains and grassy fields, of a world that hadn’t yet been explored.

The idea that a little rover, modelled after the first Opportunity Rover that had explored Mars, could send signals of such strength and clarity to Earth had blown his min—

He sat up abruptly.

“That’s it,” he crowed. The picture of the second Opportunity Rover, predictably, didn’t reply. He grinned triumphantly. “_Yes_!”

————————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 40.5 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 69, 2117**

**Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan**

Steve sat wrapped up in a blanket that likely still held a modicum of his mate’s scent at the table in the common area, thick bags under his eyes and his normally already pale skin a sickly gray-white. He was unhealthy and grieving, and he was in pre-heat, _months_ before his next heat was actually due, according to Barnes’ meticulous notes.

He was not doing well, but…

Dum Dum sighed. He was out, at least. It was one of the first times they’d managed to convince him to leave his and the sarge’s room, even if they’d only managed by having Gabe hacking a piece of code in the system and streaming the video call from Steve’s mother onto his tablet. It’d been Steve’s mother, a wonderful, formidable woman, who had convinced her son that he needed to get his lazy butt out of bed, and that he needed to eat.

“Bucky did not die for this, Steve,” she’d told him sternly, and even Dum Dum had winced at the look of complete and utter devastation on Steve’s face.

It _had_ gotten the man out of bed, though.

Far be it for him to argue with the woman when she produced such results.

Steve was actually _eating_ and keeping his food down, rather than throwing it all back up as soon as it reached his stomach. Dum Dum had some medical training—he was a licensed E.M.T. back on Earth after all—and he knew Steve could not have gone much longer without food. The last few times he’d thrown up, he’d thrown up nothing more than green, sickly bile, and it scared Dum Dum how close they’d come to losing Steve too.

He’d lost at least 10 kilos since they’d left Gaia, and considering that had been only a month ago, it was definitely too much.

“Becca and Gracie miss you,” Sarah Rogers was telling Steve from the big holoscreen that was hovering over the table. Steve sipped his soup and blinked up at his mother quietly. Dum Dum had noticed that Steve did that a lot after leaving Gaia and losing Bucky. He’d stare up at anyone who was speaking to him, blinking slowly and confusedly, almost like he didn’t quite understand what they were saying.

“I miss them,” Steve finally rasped, voice hoarse with disuse. “How’s mom?”

Sarah smiled sweetly, and Dum Dum could really see how much Steve took after her. “She’s alright. Morning sickness has finally abated a little—we’ll know the baby’s sex in a few weeks time too. You’ll have a little brother or sister when you come home, _a leanbh_.”

_That_, if nothing else, got a reaction out of their young Captain.

Steve perked up from his blanket burrito and smiled genuinely at his mother. “I look forward to it,” he said decisively. “Tell the girls to take good care of our little sibling until I’m there.”

Sarah laughed and nodded. “I will, _a leanbh_,” she promised. “I miss you, sweetheart. Make sure you come home to us.”

Rogers looked up at his mother with big, wet blue eyes, and Dum Dum swore he’d never seen the man look younger than when he whispered, “I’ll try, mama.” Rogers’ mother smiled tightly and pressed a kiss to her fingertips before pressing her fingers to the screen.

“I love you, _a leanbh_,” she offered before the call ended and the screen collapsed.

Steve stared at the spot his mother had occupied a moment ago for a few minutes before he turned his attention back to his bowl of soup. Dum Dum was actually pretty surprised to see the thing was nearly entirely empty.

“Hey Cap,” he took a seat beside the younger Omega and patted his hand on Steve’s forearm gently. “You want some more grub?”

Steve took a long moment to think about his answer before he nodded shyly and held out the bowl to Dum Dum. Dugan took it with a fond smile, and got to his feet to fill the bowl again—it was a _really_ good sign that Steve was eating. His body was going into pre-heat, and he’d need the calories for when he did go into heat.

Dum Dum would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped, at least a little, that Steve’s heat would delay after his dramatic weight loss.

It didn’t look like it would, unfortunately.

He hated that most of all. Steve was not at all mentally prepared to spend a heat with anyone but Bucky, and it wasn’t like they could leave him alone now—he’d be more likely to hurt himself than to stay safe during his heat. If they left him alone, Dum Dum was willing to bet that he wouldn’t eat or drink anything the entire week, and he’d somehow manage to get even skinnier than he already was.

He filled Steve’s bowl with thick, warm soup, and took a bowl of his own too when Gabe came crashing into the common area, eyes wide and a little crazed.

“Guys,” he panted. “We’re being hailed. An S.O.S. signal with a video feed.”

Dum Dum set down his soup with a louder _clap_ than he intended. He spun on his heel, staring at the other Alpha in astonishment. “That’s not possible,” he shook his head. “We’re too far out to receive signals other than URSA’s.”

Gabe shrugged helplessly.

“Bring it up on the screen,” Steve said suddenly, looking as serious as he could while wrapped in a heart-patterned fleece blanket, hair sticking up in irregular tufts. “It’s an S.O.S. Whoever it is, they need our help,” he insisted.

Both men stared at him, because it was the most words Steve had said in a row since they’d left Gaia, and neither of them could quite believe their ears.

“Come on.” Steve clapped his hands impatiently. “Get to it. Whoever this is, they probably can’t afford to wait around for you two to get your heads out of your asses.” He shrugged the blanket down a little, squaring his shoulders and frowning at them impressively.

Gabe glanced between Steve and Dum Dum a few times, clearly torn between following Steve’s order and trying to protect the fragile Omega like they had been for the past month.

“Alright, Cap,” Dum Dum nodded.

This was the liveliest he’d seen Steve since… since losing Bucky, and if giving Steve a task to focus on—a life to save—would help him keep going, then Dum Dum would do his level best to ensure he’d be given that task.

It was the least he could do for Barnes.

Gabe nodded and rushed to the nearest monitor, tapping at the keyboard rapidly for a moment before the holoscreen—which had collapsed when Steve’s mother ended the call—folded back open over the table, the picture pixelated and unclear for a few long, tense moments before it cleared, revealing the person who’d been sending them S.O.S. signals.

Dum Dum’s breath caught in his throat and Steve let out a pained gasp.

“Bucky?”

————————

**Alexandria, Egypt **—** Earth   
Sol 70, 2117**

**Anthony “Tony” Stark**

“What the hell was so urgent it needed to disturb my beauty sleep?”

Tony flounced into the conference room with all the air of a man who was terribly inconvenienced by the very existence of other people. He rubbed his hand over his swollen stomach, mentally begging his unborn daughter to _stop kicking his ribs, damn it_, because whatever this meeting was about, it was _definitely_ important enough to get him—a very pregnant, definitely hormonal Omega—out of bed at three a.m.

He felt like he’d been run over by a train, because he hadn’t been able to fall asleep until nearly one a.m., because the baby was so very active, and his ankles were swollen and he had stretch marks _everywhere_, and he’d really rather be nesting, at home with his mates rather than here.

He was ready for the pregnancy to be over.

Dealing with URSA had been a pain before he’d gotten pregnant—it was a downright nightmare now.

“While I’m sure we’re all _very sorry_ to disturb your… beauty sleep,” Alexander Pierce said, a smarmy smile on his face as he stood to welcome Tony into the room, “I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”

Tony frowned at that, although he did make an effort to smile at Daniel Sousa, who stood when Tony made to sit on the chair beside him, helping him sink into the cushioned seat without being overtly obvious that he was doing so. Tony _liked_ him—he was Tony’s godmother’s husband, of course, so he’d known him all his life, and he knew Daniel was a good man—and he was glad to see at least one friendly face in here.

“Well then.” Tony waved his hand grandly when he’d managed to settle semi-comfortably. “Please, tell us what was so urgent you needed to pull me from my bed in the middle of the night.”

Nicholas Fury—who had operated as official director of URSA since Peggy Carter had decided to retire so she could focus on exploring the universe as much as she could—sighed heavily and pulled up a holoscreen to hover over the large conference table. “Four hours ago, the Gaia crew aboard the _Hermes_ received an S.O.S. signal.”

Tony frowned, eyeing the screen in contemplation.

It showed the _Hermes’_ current position concurrently with their current colonies and satellites, but—

“How could they receive a signal that wasn’t directly sent to them from our satellites?” he demanded, leaning forward as much as his belly would allow him to. “They’re too far out for anyone else to—”

“I’m getting to that,” Fury barked abruptly, although he backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, Stark. It’s been a long night for us all.”

Tony swallowed thickly. “Go on,” he croaked, more disturbed at the fact that _Fury_ had apologized than by whatever it was that he was looking at.

Fury opened his mouth to speak again, but Pierce leaned forward impatiently, cutting across him as he said, “Let’s not beat around the bush. Bucky Barnes is alive.”

Tony’s entire world screeched to a halt for a long, tense moment, his breath punching from his lungs in a startled breath, his baby abruptly stilling in his womb—

“What?” he whispered.

“Barnes is alive,” Fury repeated, although he shot an annoyed look to Pierce, who had leaned back in his seat now that he had dropped the bomb on him. “It’s why we called you in.” Fury turned his attention from Tony to the other occupants of the room, and if Tony hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t have heard the slightest waver in the other man’s voice that matched the nausea that was steadily crawling up the back of Tony’s throat.

Tony… Tony wanted to _do_ something, _say_ something, but his body refused to cooperate, and he couldn’t quite recall how to talk for a moment, because he couldn’t really think past “Barnes is alive”.

“I thought,” Tony choked, his legs giving out from beneath him as he fell backwards onto his chair. He hadn’t even realised he’d risen from his seat in the first place. “I thought you said his biomonitor—that there wasn’t any doubt—”

“There wasn’t,” Fury interrupted abruptly, tense and clearly rattled, but Tony could see him fraying around the edges a little in the way his hands trembled before he pressed his palms flat against the table. Tony knew that Fury worked hard for his astronauts, and that he _cared_, but it was the first time he had seen the older man show such blatant emotion.

“Barnes’ biomonitor showed zero blood pressure and heartbeat for a full minute before its signal cut out,” he continued tersely. “Added to the way Rogers went feral, there was no reason to believe Barnes survived.” He heaved a heavy sigh and added, “He managed to find Opportunity II, get it working again, connected it to the _Hermes_ and informed the crew of his survival. Dugan called us as soon as they broke the connection.”

Tony nodded shakily. “So… So we gotta help him. Get him back.”

“Hold on,” Pierce cut in. “Let’s not be _hasty_. Who says we should? Barnes was thought KIA, and although he was a valued member of the Corps, we cannot extend that amount of resources to retrieve _one_ person lightly.”

“Of course we’re getting him back,” Tony blurted, glaring at Pierce angrily. “That’s not even a _question_. And, since most of these precious _resources_ you’re talking about are _mine_, I think I get the final say in how they’re spent.” He itched to _do something_, to send the next rocket straight to Gaia, to pick Bucky up and bring him _home_, but he still didn’t have enough to go on.

“I’m very uncomfortable with sitting around while one of our own is in danger too.” Daniel frowned impressively at Pierce and Fury. “As Tony said: in the end, almost all of our resources come from Stark Industries. Tony gets the final say in how they’re distributed.”

Tony opened his mouth to contribute, but Fury beat him to it, holding up his hands in a placating gesture—as if that fucking made it better that Pierce had suggested _leaving Bucky on Gaia_.

“I’m not suggesting we leave him to his fate. I’m just trying to make sure we’ve considered all the angles here,” Pierce spoke slowly. “When the world learns that Barnes survived and that we left him, a shitstorm is going to hit us _hard_. I know none of us were around back then, but the Watney scandal nearly tanked NASA. We can’t afford to lose that kind of face in front of the world. And let’s not forget the _Hermes_ crew. We can’t underestimate the effect of Barnes’ survival on Rogers. Knowing he abandoned his Alpha on Gaia might crack him entirely. We can’t risk losing him—he’s a great asset, and URSA has invested a lot in him already.”

“Who _gives a flying fuck_?” Tony exclaimed. “_I _have invested a lot in Steve. _My father _and my uncle invested a lot in Steve. _And _Barnes. You _don’t_ get to claim that—_them_—as yours. They’re _people_.”

He watched with no small sense of satisfaction as Pierce shrank back in his seat, eyes wide and clearly taken aback by Tony’s vehemence.

“With all due respect,” Daniel added, leaning forward with a frown. “If Rogers was going to do something drastic, it would likely be if we left his Alpha to die on Gaia rather than try our best to retrieve him. He’s been in dire condition for weeks because of the BoS—Dugan reports he’s actually doing _better_ now that he knows his Alpha’s alive.”

Tony barely suppressed the urge to sneer at Pierce, pleased that Daniel had backed him up—admittedly more eloquently—but he had more important things to do.

“JARVIS,” he said briskly, leg bouncing erratically underneath the table. “Pull up everything on the URSA servers about the Gaia mission, predicted planetary trajectories, and satellite orbits. I don’t care how many firewalls you have to bypass, get me _everything_, and call Bruce Banner. We’re gonna need that big brain of his. We don’t have a lot of time. If they’re already experiencing BoS symptoms, one or both of them could go feral within a year.”

He barely waited for JARVIS’s murmured affirmation before he leaped—_waddled_—out of his chair, pulling up a second large holoscreen above the table.

“So,” he began. “Let’s go over everything and find a way to get our boy back, shall we?”

————


	5. Three

### Three

**Brooklyn, New-New York, United States of America **—** Earth   
Sol 92, 2117**

**Mary-Grace “Gracie” Barnes**

The house was a lot bigger than it was in Gracie’s memories, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Bucky and Steve were in nearly all of her memories of the house. It felt _emptier_ now, even with both her and Becca here, after the funeral, helping their mothers prepare the nursery for the baby and… just trying to keep an eye on both their parents.

Winnie had taken the loss of Bucky _hard_, and her OB/GYN had ordered bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy to minimize the risk as much as possible.

Gracie knew that Sarah was worried and angry and grieving too, and they were all worried _sick_ about Steve, because the bond between him and Bucky was… it was the thing A/B/O fairytales were made of, and Gracie was terrified he wouldn’t be able to handle the strain of their broken bond.

It was rare for Omegas to die after losing their Alphas, but it _did_ happen with those with increasingly strong bonds, or with couples who’d been bonded for decades. Bucky and Steve had been packbonded since they were kids, and officially bonded as soon as they were of legal age. They weren’t _quite_ an old married couple, but they were certainly close.

Even their moms’ bond wasn’t as strong as Steve and Bucky’s had been, according to Stark’s publically available bonding algorithms—but then, Bucky and Steve had just tested off the charts.

Gracie _longed_ to have a bond like that too, one day.

She was content, right now, with her pack bond with her twin though. It was the closest thing to a real bond she’d ever experienced, and if being really bonded was anything like it, she really couldn’t wait.

She sighed and removed the tea bags from the cups she’d made for her mama and herself, disposing of them quickly before she returned to the living room, where she’d helped her mother build a temporary nest, so she wouldn’t be confined to the bedroom constantly.

“Here you go, mama,” she said as she handed her mother a cup of tea.

The older Omega only nodded in thanks, wrapping pale, cold fingers around the mug gratefully, settling it on the swell of her belly. Gracie settled down beside her again, leaning into her mother as much as she could. The scent of her other babies soothed Winnie’s nerves, she knew, and she and Becca had made sure that at least one of them was with Winnie at all times when Sarah couldn’t be.

Her mama was trying, Gracie could see, but it was extremely hard on her.

“The baby is kicking,” Winnie said quietly, setting the tea aside and taking Gracie’s hand in hers, moving it across the swell of her belly until she could feel a little hand or foot press against her palm.

“That’s amazing,” Gracie murmured, settling a little more so she could press against her mother more fully, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I can’t wait until they’re born.” Her mama purred happily and tucked her arms snugly around Grace.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Winnie hummed.

It’d been a little weird when their mothers had sat all of them down three years ago, seriously telling them that they were considering adding another member to their family. It wasn’t that their parents were _old_, or that they were opposed to having more siblings, it was just…

Becca and Gracie were going to be twenty-six years older than their sibling. Bucky would be nearly thirty years older, and while they were supportive of their parents’ wish to have more children, it’d taken some time for every single one of them to… get used to the idea.

Especially Steve and Bucky, who were bonded and would have a sibling who was related to both of them. It _was_ a weird situation.

As it was, it’d taken Winnie and Sarah nearly two years to successfully conceive.

They’d all gotten used to the idea by then, thankfully, and they’d all been delighted for their parents. Steve and Bucky had already been on the way to Gaia when they’d found out, but the boys had been _delighted_ to hear the news when they’d been allowed a video chat six months into their journey.

Now, none of them could wait to meet their new sibling.

Grace perked up a little when she heard the front door unlock and click open, the sound of Becca and Sarah’s voices preceding them into the room. “Hey mama, hey Gracie,” Becca called out when she walked in with their other mom, grocery bags hanging off both their arms.

Sarah poked her head around the corner, smiling at the two Omegas cuddled up in the temporary nest Winnie had built on their sofa. “Are you hungry, darlings?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soft, careful not to disturb the calm atmosphere the two Omegas had created in their den.

“A little,” Grace hummed thoughtfully, before looking up at her mama. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Winnie nodded, rubbing her hand over her belly. “The baby wants french fries,” she informed her Alpha with an impish grin that reminded her of the carefree, happy woman her mama had been before they’d lost Bucky.

She was indescribably happy to see that kind of smile on her mother’s face again. 

“Really?” Sarah drawled playfully, raising an eyebrow. “Well, that _is _strange. We had french fries yesterday too. And the day before that. And the day before _that_.”

Winnie blinked up at her Alpha innocently. “I can’t help it. _Your _baby wants french fries.”

Sarah chuckled. “Oh, now it’s _my_ baby?”

Winnie nodded, a semi-serious look on her face. “Of course, darling. Everything to do with cravings makes it your fault, remember? That’s what Tony says, and he _is_ our resident scientist-of-all-things.”

Grace snorted a laugh, ducking away when Sarah swatted at her head playfully. Her mom crawled into the nest with them, curling around her mama until they were all cuddled together in the little nest. Grace couldn’t help but purr contently, settling into her mama’s embrace as if she were still a little girl, nesting with her parents when the world felt too big to deal with.

“Uh,” Becca walked into the room with her phone in hand, expression carefully blank, although Gracie could sense the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.

“What’s wrong?” Grace asked, sitting up from the tangle of limbs as best she could.

Both their mothers sat up too, looking at Becca in concern.

“Nothing,” Becca shook her head. “I mean, it’s not—Tony called. He’s on his way here. Said there’s something he needs to tell us. All of us.”

They all remembered the last time he had needed to tell them all something.

————————

**Brooklyn, New-New York, United States of America **—** Earth   
Sol 92, 2117**

**Anthony “Tony” Stark**

He spun the cup of tea Steve’s mom had given him between his fingers restlessly, leg shaking tirelessly beneath the table. The baby was relatively quiet, for once, but Tony was nervous enough for both of them, because the last time he was here, he’d shattered their world, and though he was here to _fix_ it this time, he was still… _queasy_ about it.

He’d weighed the pros and cons of keeping Barnes’ family in the dark about his survival until they had a valid rescue plan, but in the end, he couldn’t _stand_ it.

He was _not_ looking forward to the conversation or their reactions, but…

They deserved to know. If it was him, if his baby…

He’d want to know.

That had been what had made up his mind to go directly against the decision they’d made at the last meeting with the rest of the board. No matter the consequences, Bucky’s family deserved to know the truth. Even if they took the news well—although they would hardly be _unhappy_ to hear their brother and son was alive—they might very well want his head on a spike for letting them think he was dead for _months_.

Becca and Gracie might hate him for not telling them as soon as he’d found out.

Then again, he mused, they might surprise him. The Barneses usually did—it’s why he liked them in the first place. It’s why he decided to keep Bucky Barnes and that scrappy little Omega of his all those years ago, why he decided that he _liked_ the Alpha kid that _would not fucking quit bothering him _about his space programs and rocket designs.

“So…” He looked up when Becca spoke up, glancing towards her twin sister and mothers before turning her gaze back to him. “You didn’t mention, on the phone, what this was about. Is it—is Steve—” she choked and Tony blanched.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head rapidly. “Steve’s fine—as fine as he can be, under the circumstances. It’s…” He sighed heavily and ran both hands through his undoubtedly already messy hair. “Okay, look, full disclosure, I had to sneak away from two _extremely_ overprotective mates to be here, and I couldn’t tell them, because… honestly, the fewer people that know, the better right now, but _I couldn’t, _in good conscience, keep this from you guys, so…”

His baby gave him a particularly sharp kick to the ribs.

Alright. Fine, he could take a hint.

He looked up at the collected Barnes-Rogers clan and exhaled shakily again. “I’m going to tell you something, but… _Officially, _you don’t know anything, okay? This can’t leave this room.”

He waited until every single one of them had nodded, the air between the five of them growing thick with tension. Tony blew out another breath and pressed his shaking palms to the table top, taking a second to steady himself before he blurted, “Bucky’s alive.”

————————

**LIVE TRANSCRIPT OF MESSAGES BETWEEN ASTRONAUT STEVEN GRANT ROGERS AND ASTRONAUT JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES: **

**JBB**: You’re a punk, Rogers. This ain’t your fault.

**SGR**: I should’ve looked harder. We should have waited it out, like you said.

**JBB**: Stop. Don’t do that.

**SGR**: I love you.

**JBB**: End of the line, pal. We ain’t there yet.

————————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 35.85 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 100, 2117**

**Steven “Steve” Rogers**

Steve leaned his chin on his hand and raised an eyebrow at his two friends. The _Hermes_ had almost constantly been in communication with Bucky since he had first managed to hail them using the old Opportunity Rover, and Steve had, admittedly, spent a lot of his time checking in on Bucky, both using the cameras and the messaging system they’d set up through the Rovers, but certainly not enough to warrant this kind of intervention.

“Guys, I’m fine,” he told Gabe and Dum Dum seriously.

“Steve,” Gabe said, infuriatingly gently, holding his hands up in supplication, radiating calm and soothing pheromones. “You’ve been in heat for a day and a half, and you haven’t eaten since then.”

Steve blinked. “I’m not hungry,” he tried, trying his hardest to ignore the knowledge that both Gabe and Dum Dum could smell how uncomfortably and unwillingly aroused he was and had been since the day before yesterday. He was distinctly glad that the pads URSA provided muffled as much of the scent of his slick as it did—the idea of anyone but Bucky scenting him while he was in heat still made him feel nauseous.

Both Alphas looked distinctly unimpressed by his argument, and Steve huffed in annoyance.

Dum Dum crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t make me call your mate, Rogers. You know I’ll do it, and you know he won’t stop nagging you until you’ve eaten enough to last you two weeks.”

Steve grumbled wordlessly, but conceded the point.

“Fine,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and following the two Alphas to the common area, where Falsie and Dernier were quietly arguing in French about… something that went a little too fast for Steve’s slightly sluggish, heat-addled brain to follow.

He sat down next to them, taking the cup of coffee Gabe pressed into his hands automatically.

“Chicken or salmon, kid?” Dum Dum asked from the kitchen, holding up two identical silver packets of dehydrated meals, wiggling his mustache so absurdly Steve couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Chicken,” he decided after a moment of deliberation, because while he liked salmon well enough, it always made him feel queasy during his heat. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat, really, because he tended not to want to eat when he was in heat unless Bucky was feeding him, but he knew Dum Dum was serious when he said he’d call Bucky and tell him that Steve wasn’t eating.

“What are you two talking about?” He turned to Falsie and Dernier, raising an eyebrow at them.

Dernier waved a sheet of paper at him impatiently, babbling rapidly in French, and while Steve was usually fluent enough to understand Dernier, he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it this time.

He shifted his gaze to Falsworth pleadingly.

The other man laughed and shifted the papers—because they were working on _actual paper and notebooks, shit_—so Steve could see. “We’re trying to help URSA figure out how to get our boy back.”

Steve glanced at the calculations on the sheets of paper and blinked. While he was no slouch when it came to calculating distances and angles, rewriting formulas to fit various hypotheses and other mathematical calculations, he wasn’t quite capable of doing it all off the top of his head, like Falsworth and Dernier seemed to be doing.

Dernier had a tablet open, running orbital computations, vectors between Earth and Gaia cycling over and over. Dernier glanced towards the screen and wrinkled his nose in agitation, shaking his head before taking a long drink from his previously abandoned coffee mug.

“Ugh,” he choked, spitting what Steve assumed was cold coffee back into his mug with a grimace, before pushing away from the table to get a new mug.

Falsworth chuckled and shifted closer to Steve, bringing the tablet and showing Steve the trajectories they’d calculated. “We ran over twenty simulations,” he explained. “All variations of a resupply probe launched from Earth take three-hundred seventeen days to reach Gaia. They vary only slightly in thrust duration, and the fuel requirement is nearly identical.”

“What if we launch from Mars?” Steve demanded, tapping at the screen impatiently.

Dernier plopped down beside Steve and shoved his shoulder against his. “Would not work. Mars and Gaia are positioned about as far from each other as possible in their orbit trajectories.” He snorted and sipped his coffee. “_Merde_, it would be easier if we—” the man trailed off, eyes going unfocused as he stared at the trajectories on the tablet’s screen.

“Easier to what?” Falsworth leaned forward, eyeing Dernier shrewdly.

Steve resisted the urge to squirm in his seat, slightly uncomfortable with the two Beta men pressing so close on either side of him, but not enough so that he wanted to move away. The contact was actually reassuring in a way he hadn’t thought it would be.

Dernier blinked sluggishly down at his coffee mug. “I need more coffee,” he muttered, abruptly getting to his feet and returning to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding running into Dum Dum as he did.

“Almost easier to _what_, you insufferable French bastard?” Falsworth demanded loudly.

Steve was momentarily distracted by Dum Dum appearing next to him with a plate of food, taking the utensils Dum Dum shoved into his hands without thinking much about it, most of his attention still focused on Dernier, who had re-appeared with what appeared to be an entire carafe filled with coffee.

“I can get us back to Gaia within a two-hundred and twenty sols,” he announced.

Steve choked on his food. 

————————

**LIVE TRANSCRIPT OF MESSAGES BETWEEN UNITED RESEARCH SPACE AGENCY AND ASTRONAUT JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES: **

**JBB**: So, how’s this plan to save my gorgeous ass coming along?

**URSA**: We’re leaning towards the use of the “Iris” rocket we’ve got on stand-by to get you supplies to last you until the next Gaia mission. We named it after the Greek goddess who traveled the heavens with the speed of wind. Among other things, she’s also the goddess of rainbows. It’ll be alright, Barnes, don’t worry.

**JBB**: Fine. Whatever. Gay probe coming to save me. Got it. How’s my family? What did they say when you told them I was alive?

**URSA**: We haven’t told your family you are alive yet. We didn’t want to worry them before we had a solid plan in place to make sure we can bring you home safely.

**JBB**: #!!@

**URSA**: James, please watch your language. This conversation is being broadcast live to several world leaders.

**JBB**: (ง'̀-'́)ง Good, they’ll see how _horrible_ a boss you are!

————————

**Alexandria, Egypt **—** Earth   
Sol 101, 2117**

**Anthony “Tony” Stark**

“What the hell is project Marauders?”

Peggy Carter raised one perfectly arched eyebrow as she looked up from the email Tony had sent out as he waddled into the room, using both hands to support his protruding stomach. He was two weeks past his due date and he’d been having cramps all damned day, but this was far too important to delay for something as menial as potential labor cramps.

Besides.

Bruce was here, hiding in a corner of the room with Peter and Harley.

He’d help Tony if something happened.

“I had to make something up,” he told his godmother with a charming grin. “It fit the bill.”

Daniel snorted a laugh as he helped Tony into his seat. “Because it’s a secret meeting thing?”

Tony tapped his nose and pointed towards the older man.

Aunt Peg looked between him and her husband before she sighed. “I will never understand how I ended up with so many pre-war nerds in my life. Angie is perfectly normal compared to you two.”

Daniel and Tony grinned unrepentantly.

Fury strode inside, his jacket flapping dramatically behind him. “If we’re calling this Project Marauders, I would like my codename to be Padfoot.”

Peggy shook her head in disappointment. “So many nerds.”

Tony chuckled and then winced when another cramp shot through his stomach. He rubbed his hand over the top of his belly and whispered, “Just a little longer, okay? I gotta take care of this first.”

“Good morning,” Pierce said as he walked into the conference room. The others took his entrance as a cue to take their seats around the table too, and Tony waited until everyone was sitting before he beckoned Peter and Harley forward. “Alright boys,” he nodded, “let’s do this.”

He turned to the group. “I’ve been talking to the _Hermes_ crew and Barnes almost daily, checking in, making sure our _investments_—” he shot a glare towards Pierce, “—are doing well. They’ve been working on figuring out a way to get Barnes back as soon as possible too, and…”

He paused for dramatic effect, allowing Harley and Peter to draw up their calculations on the holoscreen, before he took a deep breath.

“They’ve found a way to have the _Hermes_ back to Gaia within two-hundred and twenty sols.”

A gobsmacked silence fell, and Tony felt a little smug.

“What?” Peggy finally managed, eyes wide with shock.

“How?” Pierce demanded. “By all calculations even the Iris would take three hundred and seventeen days to get to Gaia.” 

Tony gestured broadly to his two interns. “Watch the screen, I’ll explain while they demonstrate.” 

Peter and Harley pulled up the holographic model of the solar system and expanded it so the holographic overlay covered the entire room. “Iris is a point-thrust craft,” Tony explained, wheeling his chair to the side a little so he could move without having to stand. “The _Hermes_ has a constant-thrust arc reactor engine, which means it’s always accelerating. It has _a lot _of velocity right now, and to intercept with Earth—which is their current course—” he watched as Peter guided the holographic version of the _Hermes_ through the room towards Harley, who was holding up Earth. “They’ll have to decelerate for a month just to slow down to Earth’s speed.”

Fury stared at the model hard, face set in a hard frown.

“Walk us through it, Anthony,” Peggy finally said, a little hoarsely. “What does it entail exactly?”

Tony looked towards Harley, who nodded and collapsed the holographic model. “Alright, let’s do this old school,” the kid said easily, picking up a stapler and a pen from the table, handing the pen to the younger boy. “Pete, go stand over there.”

Peter obeyed eagerly, clutching at the pen Harley pressed into his hands for dear life.

“Alright, I need another volunteer,” Harley said. He turned to Fury, who was the only one who’d stayed on his feet. “You. You are—” he paused and frowned, “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

Fury blinked. “Fury.” He paused for a breath, and then added, “I’m the Director of URSA.”

Tony snorted a laugh, and he could see the others barely concealing their smiles too. Harley didn’t seem phased. “Cool. You’re Gaia. This stapler is the _Hermes_. They’ll have to start slowing down soon, to meet their intercept speed for Earth. What the model proposes is that they start accelerating instead, to preserve their velocity and gain even more.”

Harley made overly exaggerated rocket noises and walked towards Peter with the stapler. “Now, what the model suggests is that we don’t intercept with Earth at all—instead, we do a flyby of Mars, close enough to get a gravity assist to adjust course and to pick up a resupply probe for the extended trip.”

Peter handed him the pen with a grin, and Harley clenched it between the two halves of the stapler as he walked around Peter, heading back towards a steely-eyed Fury.

“After that, they’d be on an accelerating orbit towards Gaia, arriving on sol two-hundred sixteen. It’ll have to be a flyby here too, because the rest of the manoeuver takes them back to Earth, but we can let Barnes travel ahead to the next landing site; the GAV for the next mission is already there, and he can use it to get into orbit. Once they have him, they head back home.”

Harley shrugged. “Pete and I’ve done the math like a million times, and the _Hermes_ crew too. I even got that guy Rumlow, who works in Orbital Calculations and Communications, to look at it. It checks out.”

The group sat in stunned silence.

Tony looked from one to the other, catching Bruce’s eye with a cheeky grin. Of course the other scientist would be the first to grasp the magnitude of what they’ve just proposed.

He locked eyes with Fury, who frowned and sighed.

“Mr. Keener?” he said dryly.

Harley looked up. “Yeah?”

“Get out. Take Parker with you.”

Peter was already scrambling from the room before Fury was finished speaking, and Harley rolled his eyes before he followed the other boy, tossing Tony a thumbs up before he left the room.

Tony rolled his eyes.

Fury paced across the room until he reached the table, planting both hands flat against the wood. “Are you _sure_?” he demanded, looking up at Tony with an inscrutable expression.

Tony nodded.

Fury exhaled shakily, and Peggy leaned forward. “This is well and good, darling, and it’s a wonderful plan, but we don’t have a supply probe on Mars, and we can’t assemble one in this timeframe.”

Tony leaned back in his seat and nodded towards Bruce. “I know we don’t, but King T’Challa does.”

Another stunned silence met his words.

“I’ve already contacted him,” Tony forged ahead, because _fuck it_, he’d rather ask forgiveness than permission at this point. “He’s willing to help us, and he’s even willing to provide as many supplies as we need him to. Our Martian colonies are a lot younger than Wakanda’s; they have a lot more resources than we do.”

“That’s preposterous,” Pierce sputtered. “What does this bring them? Such a rocket is valuable, even for Wakandans. T’Challa would not give it up without good reason or reward. What did you have to promise them in order to agree, Stark?”

“Nothing,” Tony growled angrily. “I explained the situation. He wanted to help.”

“What about the crew?” Bruce interjected from his corner. “We’d be asking them to add at least another year to their mission.”

“They wouldn’t even hesitate,” Peggy snorted. “Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t implement the plan as soon as they came up with it.” She exchanged a glance with her husband and added, “I do rather think it should be their call.”

“It’s a matter of life and death, Mrs. Carter,” Pierce shook his head. “As the board, it is our responsibility to make these kinds of decisions with a rational mind.”

Fury sighed. “What are the odds of something going wrong?”

Tony tilted his head up and calculated the numbers. “Less than three percent,” he finally said. “Sending the probe to Bucky would be far riskier—chances of something going wrong there are as high as twenty-three percent.”

“So…” Daniel sighed, leaning back in his seat. “A high chance of killing one person—_two_, even, because there is no way Rogers will recover if we lose Barnes—or a very low chance of killing seven people. How do we make that kind of decision?”

“Together,” Fury said. “We vote.”

The tall, dark skinned man looked around the table and nodded. “All those in favor of the _Hermes_ returning to Gaia to retrieve our wayward astronaut?”

Tony raised his hand right away, as did Peggy and Daniel. Bruce, bless him, raised his hand, even though he really wasn’t part of the board and didn’t technically get a vote. Pierce, stubbornly, did not move, and Fury took a long, tense moment to think things through before he, too, raised his hand.

He glanced towards Pierce and sighed. “I understand your reservations, Alexander, but this seems a sound plan. It is certainly easier to accomplish than trying to build a probe in the time frame we have.”

“There’s something else,” Tony added. “A reason we need to get to him ASAP.”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest. “What?”

Tony looked down at the table for a second, collecting his thoughts as best as he could before he said, “I think the BoS is getting to Barnes. He’s trying to insist he’s fine, but…” He shook his head. “He’s distracted. His arm—the one that got hurt when he got hit during the storm—” He glanced towards Peggy and sighed. “It’s getting infected. If he spikes a fever, I don’t think he has the right kind of antibiotics to treat it.”

Fury glared at him. “What does that mean?”

Tony sighed. “If it does get infected, and the infection spreads... He may have to use Cho’s Cradle to amputate his arm. The shock of such a radical surgery might break him—he’d go feral.”

Fury nodded slowly. “So we need to get him those antibiotics as soon as we can.”

Tony nodded. “I’ve reached out to every chemist and physician I know, gave them a list of the medication Barnes still has on hand. They’re looking into how he can treat the wound with what he has left. It’ll last him just long enough for the _Hermes_ to get back to him, but if it takes longer…”

“Well,” Peggy said slowly, “then we’ll make sure it won’t.”

“Good,” Tony nodded distractedly, glaring down at his lap. “I don’t want to be a bummer, but can someone call my midwife and mates? I think my water just broke.”

There was, indeed, a large, wet spot spreading on his trousers and on the floor beneath his chair.

The room burst into a flurry of activity, and Tony blinked confusedly when Peggy demanded why he hadn’t said anything about cramps earlier. “They weren’t close together yet,” he said logically. “Besides, even if they _had _been, Brucie was here. He’d have helped me.”

“Christ, _Tony_,” the aforementioned man shouted. “I’m not that kind of doctor!”

————————

**Alexandria, Egypt **—** Earth   
Sol 106, 2117**

**Alexander Pierce**

Alexander Pierce glared at the men that sat at his table, furious and frustrated by the lack of forward thinking the men had shown. They needed reasons to _leave _Barnes on Gaia, damn it, not provide URSA with more ammunition to _save _the man.

“What were you _thinking_?” he hissed.

He kept his eyes trained on Rumlow, who had shown _no fucking thought _for their end goal whatsoever, but spared a bare glance towards the other men, who all fidgeted in their seats, as though they were mere school children to be disciplined by their principal.

“There was no way of discouraging their line of thinking,” Rumlow insisted. “Not without arousing suspicion. I thought it better to play along and undermine their efforts from the inside.”

Pierce shook his head in disappointment.

“We need Rogers _here, _on Earth, _without _his Alpha!” Pierce shouted. “The serum Erskine gave him is hidden within his DNA. We _need_ him like this, malleable and _broken_, so we can tie him to an Alpha of _our_ choosing. One that will understand the importance of what we seek to achieve!”

Rumlow opened his mouth again, likely to spout more justifications that would not take away the fact that the man had _destroyed_ their best chance at getting this _absurd _rescue plan and complete waste of resources—that they would _direly_ need in the coming years to achieve their goals—thrown out.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” he spat. “You’re demoted. You will no longer work on Project Rebirth. We have the eyes of the _world_ on us now. Millions of people will be looking to reunite Rogers with his Alpha, and URSA _will_ suffer if they cannot deliver.”

Rumlow glowered at him, but remained mum as Pierce turned to the other men at the table. “Rollins, you’re to take over Rumlow’s duties,” he ordered. They would have to find another way to delay or destroy the resupply rocket—once they’d gotten Rogers on Earth, they’d be able to pair-bond him to an Alpha of their choosing.

It was, after all, what they’d been preparing him for—his heats would become too intense to handle without an Alpha within a few months, and would only get more intense until he satisfied his biological need to mate with an Alpha.

They couldn’t risk one of the crew doing so; they were all too loyal to Rogers and Barnes.

Pierce barely waited for them to acknowledge his orders before he stormed outside.

URSA’s approval of astronaut Dernier’s plan changed _everything_.

The timetable would need to be adjusted.

————————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 34.8 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 107, 2117**

**Steven “Steve” Rogers**

Steve was hopelessly and entirely besotted.

He’d been on a video call with Tony for several hours, staring at the tiny little baby Tony showed proudly, and wishing he were on Earth so he could cuddle the hell out of his goddaughter. God, she was _adorable_, and Steve was probably a little biased, but he was _sure_ she was the most beautiful baby he’d ever seen.

Tony, predictably, thought Steve’s infatuation was hilarious.

“Thank God she looks like Pepper,” Steve told Tony semi-seriously. “Poor kid could’ve wound up with your real nose.” He shuddered exaggeratedly. “The _horror_.”

Tony squawked, disturbing the baby that was dozing in his arms, and he glared at Steve.

“My face is _perfect_,” he told Steve. “_Your_ future kids should be worried about inheriting unfortunate noses.” He wrinkled his nose at Steve and demanded, “How many times have you broken that beak of yours by now? Was it ever straight?”

“Tony,” Steve shook his head seriously. “There is not a single part of me that’s ever been _straight_.”

Tony snorted a laugh, and his expression softened. “We’re gonna get your boy back, Steve. We have a plan. Barnes’s sisters are even working on it along with Peg and Uncle Daniel. It’s gonna work.”

Steve nodded shakily.

The Howlies had been _ecstatic _when URSA approved Dernier’s manoeuver, and Steve couldn’t _wait_ to be able to close Bucky in his arms again, to _scent_ him, to _feel_ him, but he was _scared to his very bones_. What if they couldn’t pull it off? What if Bucky wouldn’t be able to make his way to the GAV for the next mission?

“Hey,” Tony said, drawing him out of his own head. “Come on. Barnes is going to be fine. Nothing’s going to stop that asshole from getting back to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded mechanically, curling his fingers around the wedding ring he’d taken to wearing on his hand again, rather than on a chain as he usually did. “I know.”

Tony smiled. “Morgan here is cheering you on too. You gotta come back so she can meet her uncles.”

Steve smiled again, genuinely this time.

“I can’t wait to meet her, Tony,” he said honestly, and he _couldn’t_, really. He couldn’t wait to get to Gaia and find Bucky, to spend the entire trip back to Earth reacquainting himself with his mate and to relish in the scent of his pack—his family—as soon as they got back.

And they would, he decided.

Nothing was going to stop him.

He was getting Bucky back, and he would bring him home. 


	6. Four

### Four

**URSA Launch Pad, Birnin Zana, Wakandan Olkonir Colony **— **Mars, 0.5 Astronomical Units from Earth****   
Sol 172, 2118**

**Rebecca “Becca” Barnes**

Becca lay back on the absurdly comfortable couch in Shuri’s personal section of the observatory, staring up at the ceiling. On the one hand, she was immensely grateful that Shuri and T’Challa had fought to allow her and Gracie full access to the project to save her brother, and that they’d been allowed into one of the most highly guarded, exclusive colonies in existence, but on the other, the three a.m. shift was pretty dull.

It mostly consisted of sending Shuri and the others emails when new imagery from the satellites came through, or contacting the Dora Milaje—the elite guards Wakanda employed—if something seemed fishy or if she saw someone sneaking in after hours.

Even when that someone was Shuri.

_Especially_ if it was Shuri.

They’d instituted the need for several points of constant surveillance three months into the project due to the delicacy and singularity of the mission—of their one chance to save her brother.

Despite the severity of the situation… it was still rather dull.

Initially, there had been discussion of launching and guiding the _Gefion_—the Wakandan rocket, so named for the Norse goddess of good luck and prosperity—from the control center in Houston, in one of the American Martian colonies. T’Challa and Shuri and their aerospace engineers had even agreed to it, had willingly shared the necessary technology with URSA and had commenced the tremendous task of preparing the _Gefion _for the mission ahead.

There were entire teams of men and women dedicating their time to calculating what kinds of food they needed to send to sustain the Howlies during their extended stay in space, and what kinds of medication needed to be sent along to help her brother and Steve deal with the effects of long-term and extreme long-distance separation—for all that their kind had been around for decades now, it was still an unknown science, and nobody liked playing guessing games with their favorite astronauts’ lives—as well as the kind of and amount of antibiotics her brother would need to treat his arm.

Becca tried not to think about the very real possibility of him losing his arm.

The wound had _definitely_ gotten infected, but due to a combination of Bucky’s own talent as a doctor and Tony’s team of terrifyingly brilliant physicians and chemists, they’d been able to treat it without having the infection spread.

So far.

While her brother—and Steve, by extension—were holding up admirably, they’d met more than their fair share of bad luck trying to get the probe ready before the deadline looming over them.

There had been miscalculations leading to costly delays, potentially hacked accounts, inexplicable glitches in their orbital simulations, missing tech... All in all, there had been enough for the board—though mostly Tony, since it was his money funding everything—to decide to retreat to Wakandan territory and to rely mostly on the groundbreaking technology Shuri was developing.

Becca knew that the rest of the board—namely Fury and Pierce—hadn’t been crazy about relying on the Wakandans so heavily, especially when they insisted on limiting the amount of URSA employees allowed into their territory. Becca, Gracie, Tony and his two interns, Bruce and Brock were amongst the only fifteen lucky ones that were allowed direct access to the _Gefion_.

“Well, don’t you look cozy?”

Becca blinked her eyes open again, tilting her head back just enough to see an upside down version of Tony grinning down at her. “It’s a real’ cozy couch,” she told him seriously, smirking up at him as she swung upright, curling her legs underneath her as the older Omega sat down beside her.

He moaned a little when he sat, tilting his head back against the headrest.

Tony, of course, had been working longer hours than anyone, alternately mooning over Shuri’s genius ideas and arguing with her about everything and anything.

It drove them all to distraction, sometimes.

Peter, at least, seemed to look at Shuri like she hung the moon, and hung off her every word, and Becca was pretty sure even Harley was impressed by her. Tony both hated and loved the way his two interns followed Shuri around like two lanky, overgrown, slightly overeager puppies.

It was hilarious.

“You okay?” she asked Tony concernedly when he didn’t move for a full three minutes. “Is it okay for you to be away from Morgan for this long?”

Tony grunted unhappily. “I mean, I see her every night, and every morning. Sometimes I bring her. It’s fine. Rhodey’s here too, he can… he can take care of her while I’m here.” He looked up at her through bleary eyes and frowned. “This is important, and temporary. She’s… she’s young enough that she won’t remember I wasn’t there all the time.”

Becca hummed.

She couldn’t imagine, not really, but she gathered that being away from their newborn babies was exceptionally hard for all Omega parents. It was a time meant for scenting and pack-bonding—it was why Becca and Gracie had returned to Earth for two weeks a month ago too, when their baby brother had been born.

They’d spent most of those two weeks nesting with their mothers, scenting their little brother and letting him scent them, accepting him into their pack.

Little Arthur looked like a beautiful blend of all of them, with the straight nose all of the Barneses shared, and the bottomless blue eyes that made it so hard to say ‘no’ to Steve and Sarah when they turned their eyes on you.

She sighed and leaned her shoulder against Tony’s, resting her head on his shoulder too.

“We’re gonna be alright, aren’t we?” She asked quietly. “We’re getting him back, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, curling one arm around her. “Of course we are.”

————————

**PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE FROM WINNIFRED BARNES TO ASTRONAUT JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES **

**From: **winniebarnes-rogers@starknet.com  
**To: **james-b-barnes@ursa-astronauts.com

**Subject: **Your little brother

My darling, sweet baby,

You won the bet.

I thought you’d want to know before Rebecca and Gracie, those two little shits, get to you and try to tell you all sorts of lies. It was a boy, and he was born exactly four days after his due date, just like you said he’d be. You’ll have to tell me how you do that one day—how do you know these things so well?

We named him Arthur, and darling, when you get back, we want you and Steve to be his godparents.

There isn’t anyone else we’d trust more.

I miss you, sweetheart, and your mom does too. Don’t give up. Come home to us.

All the love in the world,

Your mother

**Attachment: IMG_2562.jpg, IMG_2568.jpg, IMG_2572.jpg**

————————

**Gaia — Sol System, 45 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 180, 2118**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

He’d snuggled down into the nest he’d build in the lower bunk, balancing his tablet on his knees so he could see Stevie’s face on the screen, and so Steve could see his. They’d both snuggled under their respective warm blankets, in their warm, comfortable—albeit separate—nests.

Steve was talking about the _Hermes_ and the Howlies, and he was beautiful and sweet and _Bucky’s_, and he blurted, “I love you,” before he could stop himself.

Steve stopped talking, smiling bemusedly, and touched his fingers to the screen.

They didn’t say the actual words very often.

They’d been together so long that they had a million-and-one different ways of showing they loved each other. It was the way Bucky liked to hold Steve when he couldn’t sleep, soothing his Omega’s overstimulated senses with his scent and his touch, the way Steve knew when to dig his fingers into Bucky’s hair and scratch at his scalp lightly.

It was the way they bickered constantly, and the way Steve called him ‘jerk’ and the way Bucky would laugh and call him ‘punk’ in response.

They didn’t _need_ to always say the words, but…

Bucky stared at the image of his Omega, and felt a part of himself _itch_, crying out for Steve’s reassuring touch, for his scent, and it _hurt_.

It hurt a lot more than he’d told Steve so far, and he was afraid that his arm… that it was worse than he’d been able to discern himself. He knew that, if he was forced to amputate his arm before Steve and the others made it back to Gaia, there might not be anything left for Steve to come back to.

“I love you too,” Steve replied sweetly, nosing at Green Bear lightly.

Bucky took comfort in knowing that Steve had the bear, at least, to remember their combined scent by.

“Mama’s had the baby,” he said finally, pushing his head deeper into the pillow as he looked at his Stevie, taking in the way Steve _lit up_ when he mentioned their half-brother—and _fuck_ if that wasn’t still weird _as hell_.

“I know,” Steve nodded, sinking deeper into his own blankets. “She sent me pictures.”

Bucky smiled, something warming in his chest as he said, “We’re godparents, baby.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed and Bucky _loved_ him, _God_, he could barely _stand it_ sometimes. He watched as Steve bit his lower lip, and he didn’t need to be able to feel Steve’s moods in their bond to know that there was something on his mind. “What’s going on, doll?” he asked gently, leaning his chin on his hand as he looked at Steve.

His Omega grunted and pouted before he whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about us having a pup of our own. Everyone around us… is starting that part of their lives—_again_, in the case of our moms—and I just…” He blinked at Bucky with those big, blue bottomless eyes that he’d been in love with since the moment he’d first laid eyes on little Stevie Rogers and shrugged. “I want that, Buck.”

Something in Bucky’s chest squeezed _hard_, because he wanted that too—there was nothing he wanted more than to be with Steve, to start their family together, to see Steve’s belly swell with their child, to _see_ proof that Steve loved him as much as he loved him.

“I want that too,” he admitted. “More than anything, baby.”

“Promise me we’ll have that,” Steve whispered. “Promise me you’re going to hang on until I can get back to you, and that we’re going home _together_. That we can start a family _together_.”

Bucky hesitated for a brief moment, because he didn’t want to make Steve a promise that he couldn’t, ultimately, keep—but he wanted to disappoint his Omega even less. “I promise,” he whispered, ignoring the sick feeling in his gut that told him that _everything_ was going too smoothly, that the other shoe was bound to drop soon, and that he wasn’t ready for it.

“I promise.”

————————

**PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE FROM MECHANICAL ENGINEER REBECCA BARNES TO ASTRONAUT JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES **

**From: **rebeccabarnes@ursa-engineers.com  
**To: **james-b-barnes@ursa-astronauts.com

**Subject: **You’re a fucking meme, asshole

You and Steve are blowing up the internet, you know.

The whole star-crossed lovers thing is _insane_—I swear to God, Buck Buck, people are wearing t-shirts with your and Steve’s faces on them, calling you two boneheads #couplesgoals or whatever, like this is 2018, not 2118.

It’s good though, because it means URSA can’t fight us on bringing you back.

You know there’s even seven new studies dedicated to Bonding Sickness? They’re developing medication to handle it, to prevent going feral… You’re changing things, Buck, even when you’re not here to do it yourself.

They’re listening to us.

Finally.

Now you better get the fuck home so you can _see_ it with your own damned eyes.

Don’t you dare die on me.

Kisses,

Becca

————————

**Alexandria, Egypt **—** Earth   
Sol 182, 2118**

**Alexander Pierce**

He had spent the past few months watching every single one of his carefully orchestrated plans fall to pieces. Wakanda had been renowned for their security and their absolute insistence on keeping outsiders away from their technology for decades, but Pierce had never experienced just how effective that security and determination was firsthand.

Until now.

While their initial efforts to sabotage the _Gefion_ were at least semi-successful, they hadn’t anticipated just how strongly the Wakandans would react to the string of unfortunate incidents that plagued the mission. Pierce had protested _strongly_ when they insisted on moving the bulk of planning, communications, and supplies to Wakandan territory, with limited access for all URSA personnel—and therefore limited access for Hydra—but he had been, once again, overruled by the rest of the damned board.

He had had Nicholas on his side, this time, but even their combined word didn’t hold up against Margret _fucking _Carter, her aggravating husband, and goddamned Tony Stark.

Insolent child.

Howard, at least, had understood the need for some of their harsher techniques, even if he had balked at the use of violence towards his own son. Alexander privately thought that the younger Stark would have benefitted well from a good smacking—an Omega like him should’ve learned his place in the world by now.

He looked at the men gathered around the table with him, including a few holographic projections from those who were off-planet, and heaved a sigh.

“Well?” he demanded. “One of you must’ve brought me results—_a plan_, at the very least.”

He did relish in the way the younger recruits squirmed uncomfortably beneath his gaze, unused to such blatant scrutiny and disapproval. “The _Gefion_ launches in forty-eight hours, gentlemen, and we cannot have them succeed. We _must_ ensure that Rogers returns to Earth _alone_, preferably far enough into BoS that no one will question him being committed right away. For his own safety, of course.”

“Everyone we’ve tried to send into Wakandan territory has been apprehended,” Rollins admitted mulishly. “Even their most remote areas are solidly protected. Unless we’re invited in, we won’t be able to penetrate their defences, Sir.”

“Then _surely_,” Pierce ground out through gritted teeth, “one of you has figured out how to get invited in?”

The wary glances exchanged between the men spoke _volumes_.

“Actually,” one of the recruits piped up, refusing to be cowed by the quelling glare Rollins sent his way, continuing to speak—Ward, Pierce remembered suddenly, eldest son of one of their most generous and wealthy benefactors—despite the others trying to hush him.

Pierce admired that kind of bravery.

“Let him speak,” he told the others dryly, settling back in his seat as he raised an expectant eyebrow at the boy. “Well?”

Ward shifted in his seat nervously, although he barely cowered beneath Pierce’s gaze, before he said, “Rumlow has access. He’s there right now. He’s the one who’s been feeding us information, but he’s so low on the totem pole he hardly gets anything worthwhile. He _can_ get to the rocket though. He’s made friends with one of the Barnes sisters—maybe we can use that. Him.”

Pierce hummed thoughtfully.

When he had demoted Rumlow a few months ago, he’d stopped giving the man any sort of thought at all; he generally liked keeping an eye on former investments, but Rumlow had proven so much trouble in the past that Pierce had decided to wash his hands of him entirely rather than be dragged down by the man’s tendency to self-destruct.

Perhaps he had been hasty, cutting ties so entirely.

He turned to Rollins. “What do you think? Can Rumlow gain access to the control room? I should think altering the launch codes just a tad should do to make sure the rendez-vous with the _Hermes_ doesn’t quite work out as planned.”

Rollins frowned, clearly unhappy, but turned to his right, likely looking at whoever was with him on the Martian base, before he nodded reluctantly. “Barnes spends a lot of time with Princess Shuri in her lab; he says he can get her to slip up about where the codes are kept, and if not, he can sneak in using her authorization.”

Pierce nodded. “Very well then. Let him know that he has full permission to do so. If he succeeds, he’ll be a hero for Hydra. If he fails—”

“He won’t,” Rollins interrupted, glaring at someone on his right. “He won’t fail.”

“Good,” Pierce nodded. “Then get to work.”

————————

**LIVE TRANSCRIPT OF MESSAGES BETWEEN HERMES-BOUND ASTRONAUT GABRIEL JONES AND ASTRONAUT JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES: **

**JBB**: I need you to do me a favor, Gabe. If...If something goes wrong…

**GJ**: Barnes, nothing’s going to go wrong.

**JBB:** Just…Let me get this off my chest, okay? I’m not giving up. I’m just… planning for every possible outcome. Even the less desirable ones. So… if I die. Check on my parents and sisters for me? They’ll… they’ll want to hear everything, and I know Steve won’t… he won’t be up for it, for a while. Remind them that I love what I do, and that I’m really good at it too. And that… if I die, I’m doing it for something big and beautiful—and bigger than just me. Tell them I said I can live with that.

**GJ: **I’ll promise that if it comes to that, I’ll tell them. But I won’t need to.

**JBB:** And keep an eye on Steve. That dumb fucking punk needs someone to watch his six.

**GJ: **Roger that.

————————

**Birnin Zana, Wakanda **—** Earth   
Sol 194, 2117**

**Anthony “Tony” Stark**

He watched as Mary-Grace and Nakia—one of T’Challa’s most skilled and highly trusted pilots—climbed into a Wakandan hovercraft, both dressed in black spacesuits with their hair pulled back in tight, neat braids to fit comfortably underneath the tight black fabric of the caps they needed to wear underneath their helmets.

It hadn’t been part of the plan, originally, to have actual pilots on the probe, but once their misfortunes started to pile up, T’Challa had confided in him that he would feel better if there was someone on board to take over controls if something seemed amiss.

There were, after all, seven lives at stake.

They’d chosen Gracie, because… well, Tony was pretty sure she’d have had his head if he dared pick anyone but her, and they were sure that she was not the person trying to sabotage the entire project.

T’Challa had vouched for Nakia personally, and Tony had not had reason to doubt him.

“Now we must wait,” Shuri announced, sounding a little put upon by the realization that she wouldn’t be able to rush into her next move as she usually did. Tony grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows to get her to crack a smile before Peter and Harley descended on her and distracted her with whatever inane quest they’d been able to come up with this time.

He made a mental note to make sure they didn’t try to make actual lightsabers again.

He exchanged a weary glance with T’Challa before he caught a glimpse of Becca, who’d withdrawn from the group, hiding behind one of the larger potted plants. She was curled up on a bench, forehead pressed to the large window that offered a good view of the launchpad.

He sighed a little, biting his lip as he considered approaching her.

They’d gotten to know each other relatively well during the last couple of months; Tony had been entirely unsurprised to find that he liked these Barneses too.

It was a soft spot he didn’t mind developing.

He was aware Becca struggled with being unable to do anything during the launch, because her part in the project would be, effectively, finished, but he hadn’t really considered how hard it would be.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d moved towards her.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t let me brood in peace,” Becca stated in a soft, brittle voice when he was within hearing range.

Tony offered her a wry, humorless smile and settled on the bench next to the young Alpha, bumping their shoulders together. “I mean, you really should’ve. I’ve never passed up on a good opportunity to interrupt someone brooding in a corner.”

Becca didn’t really acknowledge Tony’s words, instead continuing to stare out the window at the _Gefion_. In fact, she didn’t even look at Tony at all—but when he was comfortably seated, she did draw closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder, a clear non-verbal plea for comfort.

Tony hummed under his breath, slinging an arm over Becca’s shoulder and letting her lean on him.

“Wanna talk about it, kid?” he inquired quietly, rubbing his hand over her back soothingly.

Becca didn’t answer verbally, but he could smell the scent of distressed baby Alpha grow stronger, and he was willing to bet dollars to donuts that if he’d look, she’d have tears in her eyes. “I know it’s hard,” he told her quietly. “I know it’s hard to sit by, feeling like you’re not doing anything.”

“I should be there,” she whimpered dejectedly. “They’re my _pack_, they’re _mine_—I should be taking care of them, I shouldn’t be sitting here. I shouldn’t be _useless_.”

The feeling in his chest at the young Alpha’s words was unfamiliar and unexpectedly intense, and he couldn’t hold back the pained whimper that fell from his lips when Becca burst into sobs, curling into him, clinging to him for comfort.

“I want my brothers back,” Becca sobbed. “I can’t do this, I don’t wanna be the oldest, I don’t wanna be the pack Alpha, I just want Bucky and Steve back.”

The words hit him _hard_, and he choked back tears of his own.

Dear God, what had these guys done to deserve something like this? What had this family—this kind, real, pack-bonded family—done to deserve such strain and suffering?

What had they ever done to deserve a fate that harsh and painful?

Becca dissolved into tears again, and Tony felt nauseous when he imagined how stressed and afraid Becca must’ve been all this time. She’d clearly kept this under wraps for as long as she could, and now everything was boiling over.

“It’s going to be okay, you know?” he said softly, rubbing his hand over her back. “We’ll get him back. This is going to work. You did well. Your sister is going to do great, and everything’s going to be fine.”

God, he _needed_ to believe in those words as much as she did.

He lost track, after a while, of how long they sat there, how long Becca cried onto his shoulder, but eventually, Becca’s tears did slow down, and she relaxed a little against Tony’s side.

“You know,” he began quietly, jostling Becca a little to startle a laugh out of her, “We don’t have to watch the launch here. I can coordinate my part of it from the supercomputer in Shuri’s lab too. It’d be more private…” _...if something does go wrong_ went unsaid.

Becca was quiet for a moment before she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. “Can we go now? Countdown starts in ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Let me just tell Shuri.”

Becca got up off the bench and smiled. “I’ll just go ahead. You catch up when you’ve gotten away from Shuri. If she lets you escape her clutches.”

Tony snorted a laugh and got to his feet too.

“Fine,” he grinned. “See you there.”

————————

**Rebecca “Becca” Barnes**

Becca’s senses were still feeling rubbed raw, the stress of their situation catching up with her so spectacularly she’d broken down over it in _public_.

She was only grateful that it was Tony who’d found her.

She hadn’t considered the older Omega a personal friend before all of this happened—she’d liked him fine, but he’d most definitely been more Steve and Bucky’s friend than hers. She’d gotten to know him during the time they’d spent working on the probe together though, and she’d found a deeply sarcastic, sweet, _brilliant_ man that liked to play off any act of kindness as something that benefited him too, or more than the person he was helping.

She was glad to know him.

She wouldn’t want to watch the launch with anyone else by her side either; _if_ something went wrong, Becca wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it together.

She shot a look over her shoulder as she left the room, grinning when she saw Tony and Shuri talking heatedly, both wildly gesturing to the holoscreen that displayed the clock preparing for countdown and the rocket’s fuel levels, and Nakia and her sister’s vitals.

From what she was able to see from where she stood, everything looked exactly like it should—the fuel levels were perfectly balanced, the hold was secure, the load was stable, and Gracie and Nakia were strapped into their seats.

Countdown was starting in five minutes.

She nodded at Okoye when she left the room, wrapping her arms around her torso in a bid to ward off the chill in the corridors—she was suddenly grateful for pinching her sister’s sweater earlier that morning. It smelled like her sister and _pack_, and it was comforting to have Gracie’s scent so close to soothe her.

The building felt strangely empty, she realized as she wandered down the hallway that led to the secured doors leading into Shuri’s lab, and she was absurdly aware of how her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways.

She guessed everyone was already on the observation deck, ready to follow the countdown live, to see their months of sleepless nights and hard work come to fruition.

Everyone had been pretty excited, and Becca and Gracie had spent hours talking to Steve and the others on video chat the previous day, but Becca couldn’t quite muster up the same kind of excitement she’d felt then. It was there, surely, but muted by the distinct feeling of dread and concern.

She wished she’d be with Gracie, going up on that rocket.

She heaved a sigh as she reached the doors and pressed her hand to the scanner, leaning in so Shuri’s A.I. could scan her face and badge too.

“Rebecca Anna Barnes,” the robotic voice droned. “Clearance level fourteen. Mechanical Engineering and Orbital Projections.” The door hissed open and Becca walked in, pulling her Starkphone from her pocket to text Tony to hurry the hell up—while she’d appreciated his offer to watch the launch in private with her, she didn’t want to be entirely alone during the countdown either—when she realized the lights were on.

She looked up in confusion, eyes widening when she saw someone moving between the desks. She recognized Brock almost immediately and relaxed a little. He was probably running a final check on the secondary communications systems; she knew he’d been running all over the building trying to get everything in order today.

It definitely wasn’t out of the realm of possibility—he did have access to the lab, after all.

She wasn’t sure what kept her from calling out to him immediately, staying rooted to the spot as he moved between the desks, muttering under his breath, eyes locked onto his frenzied movements with a much sharper eye than she would’ve thought herself capable of today.

Something was… something was off.

If Brock _was_ testing the secondary comms unit, he was at the wrong desk—he shouldn’t…

He shouldn't be.... something clicked.

A Eureka moment, Tony would've called it, as she'd heard him say many times the last couple of weeks. Becca found her brain starting to connect all the dots she wished it wouldn't, and she abruptly felt sick to her stomach.

She could see him trying to alter the target coordinates on the holoscreen, and suddenly, everything Brock had said to her in the past few months, the way he’d sought her and Gracie out, became _glaringly_ obvious.

Her hands shook as she raised her phone, blindly typing up a message to Tony, Shuri and T’Challa. _‘It was Brock all along. In the lab. Come quick.’ _She could’ve used the panic button Shuri had installed beneath every desk, but she knew it would sound the alarm in the entire building, and it would delay the launch, and she _needed_ to make sure Steve and the others got the supplies they needed to get Bucky back.

She’d… She’d just try to delay Brock long enough for the probe to launch.

She was pretty sure he didn’t know Gracie and Nakia were on board—the plan to use real pilots rather than have the probe being remotely controlled from the _Hermes_ had been strictly need-to-know. She wasn’t even sure if Tony had told Fury.

She had to act fast. There wasn't much time left before the countdown would begin.

A minute, _maybe_, at the most. "Brock?" she called out, just a little hesitantly, moving into the room a little further, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen what she had, and that she was just surprised to see her friend here.

God, she wished she could just bash his face in and duct tape him to one of Shuri’s wheelie chairs—insufferable bastard deserved no better for _lying_ to her, to all of them, for trying to get her brothers killed—but she figured she’d better keep that as plan B.

She pretended not to notice the way he tensed up before he turned to her with the biggest, fakest smile she’d ever seen on anyone. “Becca,” he began jovially. “What are you doing here, kid? Shouldn’t you be out watching the launch with your sister and the others?”

Becca swallowed back her anger and tried to look mildly embarrassed instead, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I couldn’t stand watching it in front of all those reporters,” she said. “If something goes wrong, I don’t know…” she choked a little and shook her head, and she _hated_ that she didn’t even have to fake her distress, that she had to use her fear for her family to distract this _asshole_. “...I don’t know if I could keep it together,” she finally admitted.

“Oh.”

Brock looked at her with wide eyes, like he wasn’t sure what to do with her, and Becca planned on taking full advantage of his bewilderment to make sure they made it until after the countdown—once they were in the air, Becca was sure Gracie and Nakia could make sure the probe reached the _Hermes_ safely.

On the holoscreen behind him, she could see the thirty-second countdown commence.

“What were you doing here?” she asked guilelessly, stepping closer to the desk, as if she were making to look at what he was working on.

They were both silent for a long, tense moment, and Becca could _see_ the exact moment Brock realized he had nothing left to lose. She could see the moment he realised there was no rational explanation for why he was messing with one of the navigational computers rather than his own. She saw the moment she was no longer someone he worked with, no longer a friend—if they ever had been friends at all—but an obstacle he needed to remove.

Something to overcome on the path to his goal.

If it was _his _goal to begin with.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine a reason for Brock to want her brother dead—for God’s sake, he’d held her when she found out, he’d helped her find out more, had supported her when she needed it… surely not all of that could’ve been fake. He’d helped them, during the early stages of the project, had been more helpful than a lot of others—

This… this felt like it was much bigger than just him.

Someone was pulling his strings.

Brock’s eyes hardened, and all pretense at warmth and friendliness bled right out of him. His mask was ripped away, and Becca finally saw the true Brock Rumlow.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, kid,” he said lowly. “I liked you. You’ve got _potential_.”

Becca laughed, she couldn’t help it—though the terror filling her made it sound choked and pained rather than amused. “You sound like a low-grade supervillain, Brock,” she gasped out.

She realized she must’ve been spending way too much time around Tony in that moment.

Well, better him than _Brock_, which could’ve easily happened.

She stilled, half-raising her hands in a gesture of submission, words frozen in her throat as he reached behind him and whipped out a sleek gun, leveling it at her with sure, skilled hands.

He had killed before; she knew that without a doubt. 

Shit.

Behind him, the timer ticked down to zero, and something in her chest loosened. Whatever he’d been trying to do, he’d failed.

The _Gefion_ was in the air.

“You’re too late,” she told him, because she’d never been one to leave well enough alone, and she wanted to fucking _hurt_ him. “They’re in the air. Whatever you were trying to do, you’re too late. It didn’t work.”

“I altered the coordinates already,” Brock scoffed. “They’re going to miss the _Hermes_ by _a lot_.”

Becca grinned. “Maybe if it was automated. Gracie’s flying it—you’ve failed.”

Something akin to panic flashed across Brock’s face before his expression hardened again, and he lifted the gun at her. “Well,” he hissed, “then I guess there’s no reason to draw this out, is there? Any last words, kid?”

Her hands shook, and she swallowed thickly before she choked, “Yeah. You should really learn to pay attention to your surroundings.”

Brock’s expression had barely creased into a frown when Tony popped up from behind him, smashing a bright red fire extinguisher against Brock’s skull with a sickening _crack_. Brock dropped like a doll that had its strings cut, the gun falling from his hands and scattering away, sliding beneath one of the desks.

“Well, that was exciting.” Tony looked up at Becca and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? Always getting into trouble.”

Becca exhaled shakily, sagging against the desk, eyes still on Brock’s still form and the rapidly spreading pool of blood beneath his head. The last ten minutes felt like a blur, and she felt distinctly nauseous at the sight of Brock’s—her friend, _God_, she’d considered him a _friend_, and he’d been working against them the entire time—prone form.

“Tony,” she choked, grasping at the older Omega’s arms as soon as he was within range, heart pounding and breath wheezing in her lungs.

“You’re okay, Becs,” Tony told her calmly, drawing her in, letting her breathe in his soothing Omega scent. “You’re fine, Gracie’s fine, he’s knocked out. Dora Milaje are right behind me, they’ll take him into custody. It’s over. You did it.”

Becca stared into the middle distance and shook her head.

Whatever this was, she was pretty sure it was far from over.

————————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 1 Astronomical Unit from Earth   
Sol 182, 2117**

**Steven “Steve” Rogers**

“We got it,” Steve told Bucky happily, very nearly _purring_ with how pleased he was with himself and the team for flawlessly catching the probe and resupplying with it. It’d been a surprise and source of immeasurable comfort to see Gracie too, to be able to let his little sister wrap him up in a tight hug, to let her soothe his frayed sense with the familiar scent of _pack _and _home. _“We’re coming back for you, Buck.”

He didn’t mention the issues Gracie had mentioned while she was here, and the cryptic message he’d received from Tony, saying that they’d have a lot to talk about—_when_ he was allowed to tell them, he’d said, of all things. 

Bucky had enough on his plate, Steve didn’t want to add to it. But Steve was sure as hell curious.

He could wait, though. _They _could.

He had more important things to focus on, and as long as it didn’t interfere with him getting his Bucky back…

Bucky grinned at Steve, although Steve wasn’t blind to how pale he was, and how skinny Bucky had gotten in the months that they’d been separated. His Alpha might be able to lie, a little, tell him that he was dealing with the separation sickness and that he was okay, but Steve wasn’t an idiot.

The sickness had to be a lot harder on Bucky than it was on Steve.

Steve, at least, still had the Howlies to rely on for comfort. Bucky didn’t have anyone on Gaia—he was all alone and Steve _hated_ it.

“I got another storm warning from URSA,” Bucky said, looking away from the screen for a bit. “Says it’s gonna mess with the satellite connection for a bit, so...Don’t miss me too much.” Bucky grinned at Steve through the admittedly shitty camera. “I’ll probably be out of touch until this storm blows over. Looks pretty big from where I’m sitting.”

Steve hummed and leaned his chin on his hand as he looked at Bucky.

He really hadn’t spent _so _long thinking Bucky was dead, but every minute he couldn’t feel Bucky in their Bond still felt like half of him was missing, and he _hated _it.

The distance between them grew smaller every minute, and while Steve was grateful _everything_ had worked out—despite someone seemingly doing their best to keep them from reaching Gaia again—it still took too long for his tastes.

He wouldn’t be able to feel Bucky until they hit the atmosphere, and that would take at least another hundred and sixteen sols. Steve hadn't been this alone in his own head since he was eighteen, and he decidedly _did not_ like the solitude.

“Don’t pout, sweetheart,” Bucky said, smiling a little at him when Steve pushed his lower lip out into an exaggerated pout. “I’m good. I’ll just binge watch Dum Dum’s sorry collection of Japanese cartoons and ride the storm out, and then we can video chat as much as you like.”

Steve grumbled wordlessly but nodded. He knew much of his grumpiness was due to the bond sickness that still resided beneath his skin like a persistent itch, but that didn’t make it any easier to shake it, even with two compatible Alphas to soothe his distressed Omega instincts on board.

“I know,” he said. “I know. I just don’t like it. What if something happens and you won’t be able to contact us?”

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed, smiling sweetly, although the smile did not reach his eyes. “If something happens, it won’t matter if I can reach you or not; you wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway.”

Steve whined in distress at the thought, and Bucky frowned unhappily.

“But you don’t gotta think like that, okay?” Bucky told him firmly. “Nothin’s gonna happen. I’ll be out of touch for a couple of days and then we’ll be able to talk again. I’ll tell you all the endings to Dum Dum’s shows so you can use them as leverage if he doesn’t wanna be spoiled.”

“Oh, that’s tempting,” Steve grinned, laughing when Dum Dum shouted indignantly.

Bucky chuckled. “It’s gonna be fine, doll.” He smiled lightly, that devastatingly gorgeous smile that Steve had fallen in love with before he even knew what love was, and Steve let himself smile soppily at his mate.

He figured he was owed a little soppiness.

Bucky was probably right.

Everything was going to be fine.

———————

**Hermes VII — Sol System, 2 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 189, 2117**

**Steven “Steve” Rogers**

“Tony, I swear to God, I’m going to reach through the damn screen and _throttle_ you if you don’t _listen _to me,” Steve said exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. “Gaia’s gravitational field is _entirely_ different from Mars’, so we’ll need to do _new_ calculations to see how we can anchor the buildings to the surface.”

Tony scoffed. “It’ll take so much less time to just adapt the formula than make up an entirely new one. I’m smart enough to do it, you know. I _am_ a genius, Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes Tony, I know that. We’re still not doing that. Gaia isn’t ready for colonization by _far_, so we _can _take our time to run the calculations and figure out the formulas. We haven’t even finished running detailed analyses on all of the soil samples we took—you _know_ we have to wait for those, at least, before we even begin thinking about foundations and materials.”

Tony sighed, looking heavily put upon. “You take away all my fun.”

Steve didn’t realise how long they’d been talking until Dum Dum stuck his head into the room. “Hey Cap. You nearly done? We need the room.”

Steve glanced at the little clock on the screen and winced.

He’d held up the conference room for over two hours. Shit. In his defense, he’d spent at least half of that time trying to wheedle more information about the “incident”—as Tony called it—from the other Omega, but Tony hadn’t budged.

A matter too delicate to discuss on public comms.

Steve snorted, but turned his attention back to the crew.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Tony, I’m sorry, we gotta cut this short. Tell Pep and Rhodey I said hi, yeah? And give Morgan a big kiss from her favorite godfather.”

Tony nodded energetically and waved at him. “Tell your gorgeous Alpha ‘hi’ for me too, Rogers! I’ll know if you don’t, and I’ll be forced to take him from you and add him to my ever expanding harem of _gorgeous_ people.”

Steve snorted a laugh. “_Bye _Tony.”

Tony made obnoxious kissy sounds at the camera until Steve shut off the connection, turning towards the rest of his team, who had all trooped in while he hung up on Tony, with a grin.

“Sorry for hogging the camera, guys,” he grinned. “You know what Tony’s like.”

Dum Dum chuckled half-heartedly and uncrossed his arms from his chest, and Steve noticed for the first time that the scent of his calming pheromones hung heavily in the air, and that all of the boys looked… well. _Gutted_.

The way they’d looked those first few weeks after they’d been forced to leave Bucky on Gaia, before they’d know he was alive, before they’d had _hope_.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, a sick, foreboding feeling curdling in his gut.

The boys exchanged weary glances, before Dum Dum stepped forward, dragging the second chair closer before he sat. “Steve… URSA sent an email. They… They finally got satellite images from Gaia again. The storm finally let up.”

“Oh,” Steve breathed. “So. Is he—was anything damaged during the storm?”

They hadn’t had direct contact with Bucky for over seven days—well past the estimated three days they’d thought the storm would last. Steve had tried not to worry too much; the storm _could’ve_ lasted longer, of course, because weather was often unpredictable, especially on other planets, and satellite imaging had proven that a thick cloud cover had still made it impossible to see what was happening on the surface.

“Cap.” Dum Dum shook his head and looked down. “He’s—there wasn’t—”

“Lightning,” Gabe added. “It looks like lightning struck the HAB. There isn’t… It doesn’t look like there’s much left, Steve. The HAB, its… it’s gone.”

———————

**Gaia — Sol System, 42 Astronomical Units from Earth   
Sol 193, 2117**

**James “Bucky” Barnes**

Bucky woke up with a _massive_ headache.

His eyes felt like they’d been glued shut, and he felt like he’d spent three days on a bender with Natasha Romanoff—a friend from college with a propensity towards Russian vodka. Every inch of his body _hurt_, and he felt like he’d been tossed down a particularly vicious staircase, with bruises covering every inch of his skin.

_Shit_.

He wasn’t sure what’d happened; the last thing he remembered was playing a rather dull game of solitaire with the deck of cards he’d liberated from Denier’s personal items.

The storm had raged on for far longer than URSA had initially estimated, and, from what Bucky had been able to tell from within the safety of the HAB, far more violently too. He tried to blink again and frowned when his eyes still refused to open.

“Ow,” he mumbled, trying to _move_, at the very least. 

His legs moved fine. His head moved fine. His right arm moved fine. His left arm...

He couldn’t feel his left arm.

His eyes shot open at that, and he barely contained the pained groan that fell from his lips. His eyelids _hurt_—he didn’t even know eyelids _could_ hurt.

“Ow,” he mumbled again. “Fuck. Ow.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta hurt,” someone to his right said, and _fuck _if Bucky didn’t jump half a foot, jerking backwards from the strange voice, because he was… he was _alone _on a planet, there wasn’t _anyone else here_. He hadn’t heard anyone’s true voice since Steve and the others had left Gaia.

He whirled around, trying not to fall off whatever bed he was laid out on, because _fuck_—his entire body felt like he’d been put into a blender and pulled back out.

“Easy, kid, easy,” the voice—a kind voice, definitely female—said, and before he could move more, there were a pair of hands firmly pressing him back down onto the bed. “You’re fine, you’re not in danger. Although you’re lucky I was passing by and saw you getting your ass into trouble.”

Bucky blinked up at the ceiling—_not_ the HAB’s ceiling, obviously—and considered her words.

“Where am I?” he demanded hoarsely. “Who are you?” He turned his head and choked. “Where’s my arm?” His breath wheezed in his lungs and his chest ached, but he forced himself to stare straight back up at the ceiling, beginning to recite the message they’d been obliged to learn throughout their training. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038. I’m an astronaut with the United Research Space Agency, sent to this planet to reach new heights for humanity, and to reveal the unknown, so that what w—”

“—what we learn will benefit all of humankind,” the woman finished, and Bucky was so startled, he forgot that he was resolutely staring at the ceiling and rolled his head to look at her.

His breath caught again.

“You’re Carol Danvers,” he breathed. “You’re dead. You’ve been dead for forty years. Am I dead?”

Carol Danvers—what the actual fuck—chuckled and shook her head. “Nah, kiddo. I’m not, either. Things were… _complicated_ on Earth, and I eventually decided it was safer for… _everyone_ to not go back.”

“I need to go back,” Bucky said, somewhat nonsensically, because none of this made sense. He was talking to Carol Danvers, the first known Alpha, who’d been missing, presumed dead for forty years, on a planet that wasn’t supposed to have anyone but him on it, and his _fucking arm was gone_. “I need to go back,” he repeated. “My Omega—Stevie—I need to go back to Stevie—I can’t—I need to—”

“Hey,” Carol told him firmly, resting her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay. We’ll find a way to get you back to your sweetheart, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Where am I?” Bucky asked again, eyeing Carol nervously.

Carol sighed and rubbed a hand through her short hair. “That’s a little harder to explain.”

Bucky blinked.

“_Try_,” he insisted.

Carol sighed. “Well,” she began. “They call it Asgard.”

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
